Copyright 2010 Roberta Osborn. All rights reserved.

Dreams of the Borderland

Experience

I am traveling on a day that begins with rainbows. Driving to work I spy a rainbow and I pull into a

parking lot to see it arch brilliantly from horizon to horizon, perfection. A man walks by and I can't

help but interrupt his thoughts to say, "Did

you see this?" He lifts his head and stops,

amazed. "No," he says. It is the most

vibrant and enduring rainbow I have ever

seen. We stand silently together and drink

it in until duty calls us to continue our

journeys, and we drift away reluctantly. The

entire day is full of showers and sunshine,

and as I drive home, I see rainbows

arching everywhere in front of me above

the wet tree-lined streets. The sunshine

glitters off the spangled rain-washed

leaves.

At home, the young daughter of a friend

arrives as the sun breaks through the

clouds again. "Come on, let's go see if

there's a rainbow!" I say, taking her hand.

She begins to run beside me on her light

little feet. "You mean they're real?" she

asks incredulously as we reach the door. I

laugh and pull her outside. We turn our

backs to the sun and look to the fast-

moving clouds and there is indeed a

rainbow shining there, her very first. My

little friend is grinning from ear to ear. In

that moment I realize the value of

experience.

I am awake in the dark on a summer night. I rise to lean at the open window, looking deep into

the moonlight. The trees are silver in the dimness. I sense their living presence across the world,

their respiration, their patience, their intimacy with the earth. My heart expands to encompass

them. A faint breeze pours through the screen. There are little insect noises in the grass beneath

my window, but the night is otherwise still. Unexpectedly, I hear a brief flutelike melody echoing in

the woods. I listen carefully for more. I have never heard such a sound in these woods before,

and nothing in my experience presents a likely explanation. I leave my room, slip my shoes on at

the door, and walk out of the house. I walk down the street, through the cool wet grass between

the houses at the bottom of the hill where the creek runs, into the woods. There are paths through

the underbrush made by several generations of kids. I walk the log to cross the creek and climb

half way up the familiar hill on the other side. Twigs snap under my feet. I peer through the woods

intently, but there is nothing to explain the sound. I realize that in this place all available

explanations are based on past experience in some way, that something truly new will always be

unexplained, without reference to anything I know, unimagined. I turn around and look through

the trees up the street at the neighborhood. Everything is sleeping except me. There are a few

faint street lights casting halos in the humid air. They lend a soft glow of gentle human habitation

to the night terrain. I have not determined the source of the mysterious music, and growing sleepy

now, I yawn and cross the creek, and begin the slow climb up the hill to home, to bed.

I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow, and pick up dreaming where my excursion left off. I

hear the music again, and in the twilight I am watching little fish with brilliant silver tips on their

fins darting about my feet as I stand in the creek. I am amazed that I can see them in the dark. I

move slowly so as not to disturb them, gliding gently through the water. Dawn breaks slowly at

first, warming gently, and then in a sudden burst of rays the sun crests the hill, casting a long

shadow down from every tree. I see it then, inexplicably, a throne in the midst of the woods. It is

immense, solid gold, with beautiful sculptured arms and legs like tree roots that grow out of the

hill. The throne is empty, and I am drawn to sit in it. I sit gingerly at first, but find it is more

comfortable than any spot I have ever known. I am surrounded in deep comfort, in a rosy living

radiance of gold. As the sun rises further into the sky, I am bathed in warmth and light. I awake to

the song of birds, the emergence of the sun, a new day.