I have never been to the Orient, or anywhere near that corner of the planet. Yet, with some frequent irregularity, there is a repeated scene in one of my regular infrequent dreams.
It is tranquil, a sea or large body of water, and yet the sound is not waves but a continual drip echoing into my psyche. It is too noisy to see past the place I’ve been to so many times before, but I can taste the silence.
It is only in my dreams. As much as it is relaxing, it is confusing because, apparently, we only dream of what we know and what we see in life
I’ve never been to the Orient, and this dream has become familiar enough that I may now recognize the lucidity of it all.
There is safety in this dream, and serenity. I crave both in my life. Maybe that is why I go there.
I go there often.