Sokuzan’s image appeared, cross-legged in his floating robes.
He was laughing; it made me laugh and then it turned to tears.
Next, he became a hollow bronze statue that came down to fit on top of me.
I was him.
He handed me a big ball of space.
It was a blue sky with some cloud on the inside…and out.
Holding it in my outstretched arms, I put my head in it.
Next, my head disappeared or became so much a part of the space as to be indistinguishable from it.
[Here follows an email exchange about this dream:
On Feb 2, 2012, at 12:22 AM, Nuala Clarke wrote:
Wait a second… It wasn’t a dream! It was during a visualization.
On Feb 2, 2012, at 12:30 AM, crystal gandrud wrote:
…which brings up the ever-fascinating question of what a dream is…
On February 2, 2012 12:32 AM, Nuala Clarke wrote:
I saw a documentary film last week on that very subject.
The Edge of Dreaming. A Scottish woman dreams of her horse’s death. He dies, then dreams of her death. Shamans.]
(Sometime during this exchange the ipod shuffled and the phrase “For as long as space endures” from a talk given by Crystal Gandrud on something having to do with meditation pierced through a momentary crack in the Björk.)
Question: Do the dead dream?