The Russelia dream

Somebody was kneeled down and bent low in the middle of a wooden triangular gazebo. The sun was setting now on the west where the gazebo was faced and it cast a golden yellow veil on the human. If he was indeed praying, the whole scene looked like the heavens had already decided to hear his plea.

I noticed that there are firecracker plants that seemed to be pushing themselves against all sides of the octagonal gazebo posts. I saw them extend higher and even higher until the roof and the skies were so full and heavy of them. White blooms cascade from everywhere, hanging like a lacy curtain on the roof edge. But such beauty only seemed to aggravate the inexplicable feeling of sadness that spread all over me as a steady flow of breeze blew from a distant source.

Some familiar song played over and over again; the playing times indicated how long I had stared at the helpless figure still on its knees and crying. It must be a very long time because the firecracker plants had started to climb up to my knees, partially immobilizing me. I felt like I wanted to cry and scream and cry. And scream. But my voice was drowned in the sad music I can’t hear myself.

As I tried to break free from the green tangles, I suddenly became aware that I was not standing on the ground. Right under my feet are white things that looked fluffy but felt hard, solid but unsteady. I looked back at the gazebo and I sighed to see that it was still there. But the relief was brief, for I realized that I was actually drifting farther and farther from it and it started to gray and fade with distance. I felt like I wanted to scream and cry and scream. And cry. But all my tears refused to fall despite the fear and the panic and the despair.

Then I found myself standing in the middle of the same triangular gazebo. All the firecracker plant stems receded to the marble floor and were nowhere of sight. White blooms continued to cascade from everywhere while a steady breeze lifted each bloom, flower after flower, and threw them into a heavy swirl. I felt like turning in myself to the tornado of flowers if by doing so, I will have the chance to be somewhere else but here.

But I only kneeled down and bent low taking comfort in the stream of yellow light from far away. On the far side of the gazebo, I think somebody was desperately trying to call my name. But I had already forgotten who I was and who that somebody is to me.