by Mario A. Pita
I flew last night over trees with my sister, Maria, and it was exhilarating. I saw someone walking far below, and flew behind leaves so they wouldn’t see because I thought they might wonder how someone is flying, unless the person was Maria. At that, Maria was flying with me, and I said “Flying in dreams is such an important life skill which I had lost. You have no idea how hard it has been.” Then I came to a golden pillar, as of a temple, and held it as if the substance of the temple understood.
Later, I was walking under a tree that was full of lights. Someone pointed under the tree and said “Your bulb is there.” I hadn’t seen it, but there was indeed a large bulb, which I picked up.
That last part of the dream reminds me of what Jesus said, “I am the Vine and you are the branches.” The feeling of having fallen from the vine is an anxiousness sensation that I have had at other times in life, but then I remember the other parable, of falling, “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
When I awoke, I set the dream in verse:
My bulb had fallen from the vine of lights,
but I recovered it beneath a tree,
within a dream realm, after joyful flights,
when someone pointed out the bulb to me.
The bulb will do no good, though, in my pocket.
For it to shine, I have to find the socket.
I thought of the candlelit mass on the night of Easter vigil, where everyone lit their candle with someone else’s flame, and I recalled the words of a hymn we sang that had made me think of Maria and brought me to tears…
I will hold the Christ light for you
in the night-time of your fear;
I will hold my hand out to you,
speak the peace you long to hear.