Sunday

One of those days where I consider options. Choose this, go there, plan that, wing something else. Consult the charts, do a reading, remember a dream.

That’s a good one. Remember a dream. A dream I’ve had all my life, pops up about every six or eight weeks.

I fly over the Murchison River. It’s a beautiful stretch, near the cliffs that hide it, not far inland from the outlet to the ocean.

An astral form floats over the scene. I see as if from that form. So high, but everything so clear. That lizard (and do I wonder why a lizard would be out, that the world appears to be in daylight when I know I’m dreaming? No.) sunning itself on a ledge part-way down. The colours in the striations, how they glow in the diminishing light – or is it in the ascending light? It doesn’t matter. The magic is there, in what I see, how I see it, and what I feel there.

It’s like a safe place. A dream to hide in, to be at peace. Solace. A moment of solace on the dream-trails.

That’s where I’ll be this Sunday.

And that’s all you get because the chair isn’t being friendly, I can’t sit at the desk with my legs in that position, and I’m cranky because I can see how my garden is wilting from lack of care.

Murchison River, from on high. Be there.

Below is the picture, and here is the link: Murchison

 

This photo of Kalbarri National Park is courtesy of TripAdvisor