The Woman and Her Dream by Pat Garcia
The ocean waves rippled under the woman‘s belly. They tickled her stomach, gently. The red rays in the heaven signalled the ending of the day. Though she couldn’t tell where the day began or where it ended. Unending was time. The reddish orange tint spread itself out upon the ocean. The width and breadth of its streams amazed her.
She lay on the atop of the ocean and observed the cold blooded mammals in the deep. Water drops touched her hair and ran down both of her temples. She gazed out into the vastness. Coming her way was a giant six-legged cirrata. Its arms splattering water as it moved toward her.
The strange singsong squawking of the eagle above her lulled her mind. Had she finally made it? She opened her eyes and turned over to watch the giant bird’s approach. The roar of the waves became stronger. A blue-black fin sticking up out of the ocean was gliding in her direction. A smile crossed her face; she should have known this was the way it would be. Embedded in nature, surrounded by water, the inner peace she sought overtook her, and she sighed and stretched her legs.
“I love this place. This is heavenly.”
“Indeed it is, Woman.”
“Prophet?”
“Yes?”
“Is this real?”
“Is what real?”
“The peace.”
The singsong squawking sound of the Eagle intrigued her. She laughed.
“He’s singing a song for you.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m laughing, but you haven’t answered my question, Prophet.”
“What question?”
“Is this peace real or is it an illusion?”
“Do you like the eagle’s song, Woman?”
“Of course, I do. I already told you that.”
“You told me you were laughing at the sound.”
“Well, I like the Eagle’s song. He sounds like a chorus of frogs.” She imitated his sounds and then burst into giggles.
“Arms crawled around her neck and slid down her shoulders. “Octopus, what took you so long to get here? Did you dive down to the ocean floor?
The Eagle arrived and circled around her. The whale sprouted water and doused her.
“I’m a mess. I think I need to stay here.”
“Why’s that, Woman?”
“The peace.”
“Oh.”
“Oh what, Prophet?”
“Peace is a priceless commodity where you come from?”
“Prophet! A lion and a bear are dancing on the water! Are they friends?”
“Everybody is a friend.”
“Not where I come from.”
“Oh.”
“This peace is transformative.”
“The quietness?”
“Yes, Prophet. The stillness. It’s peaceful.”
“No stillness down there, huh?”
“Too much talk.”
“Why talk, Woman?
“People are afraid of stillness.”
“Why?”
“Fear, Prophet.”
“What about you, Woman?”
She turned to answer him. A flash of light shone. Something buzzed loudly breaking the silence. She covered her ears with her hands, the sound getting louder as it came closer.
“Stop it,” she screamed.
The explosion burst down her door. The blast knocked out the window panes. Her body thrown against the wall, she landed a few feet away from her bed.
No, no, no!
The floor was shattered with glass. Her hands bled. In her confusion, she tried to think as she counted her fingers.
Ten. Good.
Slowly, she crawled to where her door once was and headed to the shelter beneath her apartment.
It was only a dream.
The war is not over.
There is no peace
—
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia