THE LADY of DREAMS

Last night I dreamed of her again. Another in a series of dreams over a space of time and with each dream she's in the same joyful mood and living in the same beautiful place, a very spacious and beautiful home built with many large rooms, a vast interior space of white marble floors, gorgeous furnishings and a mellow tranquility that invites us, the night travelers who arrive in small groups as if to party, to enjoy all that she has to offer.

She beams with happiness and has energy unbounded, leading us from place to place, room to room, view to view, all the while employing her sweetly wicked humor and playful attitude. She remains tiny and perfectly proportioned just as she was among us in flesh and blood. Surely one of the most beautiful creatures ever fashioned by God and his Angels, destined for glory and undreamed of celebrity which brought both resounding acclaim and the darkest of crushing personal tragedies, heartbreaking romance, and through everything she turned to "Her" special God for guidance and comfort.

When global headlines were reporting her fabled life of Ying and Yang and she was once again misquoted, misunderstood or just plain lied about, she'd swallow the pain and bitter flavor of it and then ask, "What am I supposed to do? Stand on street corners and hand out pamphlets?" Such was her stubborn streak and habit of putting her life in a perspective never known or shown to her adoring public.

The dreams are as if she's nudging me playfully and showing glimpses of what is to come. All is splendid and amazingly clean and the sun is the brightest imaginable but so easy on the eyes.
Her home rests on land overlooking an impeccable stretch of sand leading to an azure sea and inviting caps on waves of white foam.

Amazingly, to the right of the sprawling Mansion there is a narrow river flowing North of the sea and its gently breaking waves. The river is not connected to the sea, being of clear, pure, water that flows into a vast lake found at the furthest measure of her land. The lake gives life to the greenest of trees on rounded hills sheltering all manner of creatures, the same as found here in our reality of wakefulness.

To be with her in reality was most always fun and made more so by her innate humor and sense of propriety. She poked as much fun at herself in private as she did with others, yet in public became the isotope of femininity that made those of her sex yearn to be like her and, toward that end, copied her hairstyle, wardrobe, glamour and mystique, much to her amusement and delight.

She enthralled the opposite sex from the first moment she appeared on screen, during a huge war, and she became the image of the girl left behind in the greatest country and melting pot in human history.

I yearn for her in my waking hours and invite another visitation during sleep. So many dreams, all so similar, leaving me with a sense of Grace like a comforting blanket surrounding but not touching my flesh, a feeling of content that lasts for days before seeking refuge in the deepest crevices of my mind.

She will surely come to me again before I cross over to the plain of her existence.

TAYLOR PERO