Tree Dream
In my dream I collect leaves. The tree of Heksenberg has seen history, times when witches and healers were hunted, also the rise of women from patriarchy, social change, wars, conflicts, the price of freedom. Sorrow, happiness, the flow of existence, stars, only some rays of light from the past and from the future. Even when the trees are felled, the roots stay in the past, the gardens become mirrors of love, human forms stay as statues, space fills with the same love as it was around the people who used to live.
I meet three ladies. One is the one who escorts people, from eternity to birth and from life back to eternity. She is the one who at the very last turn gives you a farewell or welcome hug. I also meet a lady who paints -- to forget and to remember. Grief is a connection, and it never fades. Triangles, squares, following rhythms that constitute abstract trees, endless streams where all you can grasp is a thread.
The last lady, I can't remember. I try, but I can't. I am not wise enough or I lack some important ingredient. Maybe I passed by her too quickly, then missed the whole point. I begin to doubt myself -- was she the one I met first, and were there three of them after all? I just know there was something I should have learned. I loop back, start from the beginning. I collect leaves.