Last night I dreamed I was walking toward a sail boat, its deep orange sails raised and full of wind. I awoke yearning for some memory of freedom denied, one colored by the sun reflected in the brilliant glowing sails. It was later when I sat down and touched the keys on my piano that I remembered what I had lost.
When I was young my heart adored my piano the way some girls loved horses. My dreams were full of the stories I would write, the weaver of words, I would become, the way other young girls dreamed of princess weddings. I knew the musical notes belonged to the composer, the words to some semantic lineage, but the rhythm and open spaces that connected them belonged to me. Every time I strayed from the predictable rules, judgmental metronomes and voices demanding rigid perfection rose up to constrain me. So I set my dreams adrift for safety on the tide.
But here was a ship calling me out to sea where my heartfelt cravings were waiting in a hidden cove. Perhaps that is why dreams of mermaids have haunted me, singing sirens who lure me towards my soul’s craving. And with my fingers on the keys, listening to the rhythm in my soul, my heart opened and I played to my own cadence ignoring the composer’s restrictive structure. When I write I find that same freedom of intonation as I create a tapestry that flies free of academic regimentation.
I closed my eyes and saw myself boarding the orange ship of freedom and adventure as I laughed at the wind dancing in my hair. Perhaps I would take the mainsail sheets and draw them in tight. Or perhaps I would take the wheel and song of the siren within me.