Revolving have been my dreams of late. With each passing hour a new vision of the past and future unfolds itself before my waking eyes, and the flowing waters of Imladris is but a mirror for my thoughts, for in its crystal clear surface I see images long thought forgotten. There are great, white sails dancing in the wind; golden strands of heavy thread embroidered upon the dense cloth, bearing the image of leaves and seagulls. The proud, tall mast is adorned with exquisite carvings within the wood, tengwar letters that tells the story of they who built this mighty ship; and as the wind takes hold of the massive sail, the seagulls sing in a long-forgotten voice of harmony. Their usual, infamous shrieking is no more, and there is only the fairest music to be heard from their beaks. They sing to me, to you, to all who wish to listen; they sing of times long past and of times to come, as were they the heralds of Ulmo himself.
A gust of air catches my hair and blurs my vision of the ship, and instead, a sea of flower emerges, and upon the sea of flowers she is dancing. I breathe deeply, trying to find every hidden scent of the flowers around us; and I am watching her dance, stretching out my hand to her. When my hand locks with hers, we are instantly drawn apart again by the heavy wind, as unforgiving it is. She smiles at me and I at her, knowing that we will soon dance together again in the sea of flowers.
I feel as though I am dreaming within a dream, and cannot tell what is real and what is but a vision. I know only one thing for certain – that I need to escape this dream within a dream and follow the seagulls’ distant calling, and only then may I be free. There is a ship upon the horizon, a lonely, ghastly apparition of what may come to pass if I do not follow the call: I see myself and no one else upon that ship, steering the lonely vessel towards the sunset. I tell myself that if you do not follow the calling now, there will be no peace within your heart; and you will sail alone upon the sea while singing solely to yourself. There will be no hand to hold in yours, no arms to rest within, and no sweet lips to give that kiss you crave. My own words hit me like a barbed arrow coated in poison, why can’t I remain here, to be with my love and let her drown my longing? I answer myself, that if you do, the longing will crush and freeze you like a massive storm of winter, and the very ice of the north will feast on your heart until there is nothing but the longing left. You must meet the sea again, feel its love for you and tell the sea that you love it in return, but your journey is not due yet. Only then, may you be relieved and know the harmony you seek.
I reach towards the glimmering water, still not sure if I am living inside a dream or not; my palms are forming a bowl and I fill them with water and a few grains of golden sand, then I lift my hands up and pour its content over my face. A cold shower that washes my tears away, as well as the great doubt that has been storming around me these last few weeks. There is no dream or a dream within a dream, there is but me and my choices, and there is she to guide my hand throughout the world, until we sail away together. The pain of leaving her, if only for a short time, is nothing compared to loosing her for good, and there is not the slightest chance in the world that I will ever let that happen. Even the very sense of love needs to be tended, cared for, and for some, there is only one way to go – to travel west and meet my other love; the one I left behind so long ago, and tell the sea that I will always love its waves and wind, but that my journey will not be happening any time in the nearest future. There is still too much to see, too much to learn, to live and care for. And I will tell the sea that one day, you will meet my love and we will all work together in the most beautiful harmony; you will carry us home upon your mighty waves, and we will love you for it in return.
The path is set, and I know what I must do.
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Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow -
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand -
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep - while I weep!
O Eru! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O Eru! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
- ((original poem by Edgar Allan Poe, very lightly edited))
