Chrysalis

"Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; Something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind." - Anne Sexton

I rarely remember my dreams. But on occasion, something will happen that will trigger a series of days in which I remember my dreams vividly. It's always when I'm standing on the edge of a chasm of some sort another. I love it.

Saturday night, I had a dream about getting a tattoo and meeting a man named James Durden. It was strange because in the dream I even asked him to spell the name because it was unusual. I googled the name this morning just for shits and giggles and the first thing that came up was a Fed-Ex pilot in Denver. The second thing that came up was an artist that died in 1964. He painted these pastoral, fluffy portraits of women that I dislike tremendously. At any rate, I don't know who this character is, but I'll figure it out. Or I'll forget about it. Either way, I'm good.

The whole purpose of even writing about this, however, is to tell you about last night's dream and the clarity with which I awoke this morning.

I dreamed that I was a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. I had these huge, gossamer wings tinged with teal blue. I looked behind me and saw a gray, cottony pile beneath me. I looked up and saw my frail little antennae above me and smiled, knowing that I could rely on them. I was on a tree branch, staring at the world below me, with that chasm underneath. I fluttered my wings once and felt the wind begin to lift me. I fluttered them harder and faster and suddenly, I was airborne. I glanced back towards the safety of the tree branch then flapped harder as I flew ahead, over the chasm.

I don't know what happened to me last night as I slept, but this morning, even through the gray mist that threatens thunderstorms, I know that I've left the cocoon behind.