Twilight

Last night I dreamed a dream.
Somewhere in the twilight between sleep and awakeness
The spirit came to me.
She was as I had always known her:
The same kind face,
The wisdom of her years worn like a mantle
And eyes shining with light.
But her movements were not the same:
She did not walk with the hesitation of the old
But instead flowed like a breeze into my consciousness.
I blinked the sleep from my eyes,
For I knew her to be newly laid to rest in her grave
And this dream was merely a product of my sorrow.
Yet, she came towards me,
Shining with the light of the Heavens,
And laid her hand upon my brow.
The touch was soothing, comforting,
The touch that had always been there for me
In sickness, fear, and sorrow.
She spoke no words,
But her touch conveyed messages beyond speech:
"Be comforted," it said,
"I lived my life: now I am at peace."
As her hand withdrew, it pulled much of my sorrow with it,
And the spirit slowly receded from my consciousness.
I awoke then, knowing that it had, in fact, been a dream.
But somehow my mind felt as if a veil had been lifted from it
And my life seemed almost as bright as during her life.
I thought back to her final days,
Of frailty and pain,
And I knew that now she truly was at peace.
And though I missed her
I knew that some of that peace had been bestowed upon me.

January 29, 1998