What happens in a dream when we wake and they stay? 
The instant we make eye contact 
When a word is spoken 
As though matter of fact 
Yet the course is altered 
Awake… Too soon 

It is upon a morning dream 
That I decided to stay 
Who knew that the mere decision 
Would make things go my way 
In the dining room 
On a steamboat 
Where I’d landed a hundred times 
Our eyes met as in unison
And we spoke 

I saw you here before, she said 
The girl with wide eyes and curly hair 
You were here at the fête
Oh it seems you were here again and again 
And it went on without end 

You still wonder how we know you 
Ever since you came to us that day 
But you don’t remember 
Why do you think this place is so familiar? 
And the fête, it was for you too 

Morning dreams are the best. When on a day off I choose to skip the 5 am workout, and offer my body the leisure to rest, it is then that I find the deepest and most creative sleep. Not always, but often. I love slipping into this out-of-time-and-place world. Though it can be difficult to reconcile with the mundane everyday after. It is so vivid there. And so safe, somehow.

These sorts of dreams often take me to settings I feel I remember visiting time and again. There are often people around me, but we rarely interact. On a few occasions however, I have been surprised when someone suddenly makes eye contact and speaks to me directly.

Researchers and science tell us that the imaginary world of dreams is a place where we work out various aspects or challenges from our physical life. Mystics believe there is another, more subtle, yet worthy of attention level. I like to think that these are two valid perspectives. And as with many other things we humans study, someone, some day, will bring to light yet another dimension of this phenomenon we call dreams.

As far as I’m concerned, my appearance and interaction on a steamboat, on the Mississippi river (I sensed where I was) in the 19th century (I sensed this too), was so vivid as to suggest a deeper dimension indeed. Or it may very well be the mere product of imagination. It does not matter. The experience, the awe that welled up in me, the impression I was left with upon being acknowledged and even welcomed, in a fête no less, is the imprint this dream left on my heart.

I never returned to that steamboat after that. But if I ever do, I will try to linger a while longer this time, to meet the friendly guests, and to find the table with the cake!