Somewhere in the Norwegian landscape existed two cabins overlooking a valley. The grass was green in the summer, and you could almost hear the sound of music. Mystical is a word that comes to mind.
I had a dream when I was 39 about this valley and I was much older in the dream. It was one of those visions where you can see yourself from a distance and the consistency of the dream was what marked my memory.
The images of the people were not clear, but the energy certainly was. Peace, love, lots of children of varying ages, and I remember being with someone. A partner, a wife, I’m not sure.
My life for the last twenty years was anything but predictable. As I was about to turn 60 it was just another Sunday in the park in Austin, Texas. I was walking along, and noticed the sign on the community board adjacent the fountains and restroom area.
“Art Exhibit” at Forest Hall 312 Maple Street. It was for an exhibit the same day I was standing there, so with nothing better to do, I went up to see the exhibit.
After twenty minutes or so of looking at various pieces of well chosen local art I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye…I saw it.
The painting was the image of my dreams. Down to the exact color of the sky and the soft green grass you could almost feel with your hands. The mist rising up from the valley showed that their was a crisp cool air and the mountains in the back were definitely Scandinavian.
“Mam, mam!” I shouted to the nearest attendee.
“Who painted this?”
“Nobody knows for sure. It was donated by an anonymous woman.”
“How old was she?”
“Ahhh, I suppose she was about your age. Why?”
I scooted out of the gallery and ran outside, looking up into the sky to catch my breath. I was sweaty. I had seen something that evoked an experience in my body and my mind and the spirit.
I know that place, I thought to myself. How can a painting appear 20 years later that aligned with these dreams I had.
How is it possible, I thought to myself.
“Mark” she whispered, not five feet behind me.
I turned around.
There she was, she smiled and looked at me with a crooked grin and a look as if I had made it. As if I won some type of cosmic lottery.
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am. It’s now time to go.”
And that was the moment I woke up and stared into her eyes, the same eyes I had dreamed of all along.
“Look out the window Mark, you are home.”
I saw children playing, grandkids I would presume. The sky was a pinkish hue, almost blue.
I sat up out of bed, and said “Where are we?”
“The place you’ve always dreamed of. You are here sweetie.”
“But the last 2o years, the painting I saw in Austin, Texas…..what was that?”
She tucked the sheet around me and gently laid me back down.
“Where do I begin” she said with a kind smile and short sigh of breath.
(This story is to be continued)