The soil had been kind to us for many centuries, giving birth to numerous kinds of crops; vegetables and fruits of all kinds. In the summers, the our fields were blessed with wonderful rains. Over the years, the children of this village had developed large repertoires of games and songs associated with these marvelous rains.
Until one evening, after the oldest mother of the village Mawiri had been sick for a long period, she received a dream. In this long dream she was told by the wise ones that, due to ignorance of our tribe and our leaders the village was going to experience a permanent drought. The wise ones continued to say that, the ancestors were unhappy and have cursed our land and its inhabitants for having not sung their rain song in decades.
Mawiri woke up at midnight and told her grandsons to hurry to the king’s palace and inform his royalty that there was an urgent message from the worlds of the ancestors. The boys did as told, and soon the king had brought the entire village to to Mawiri’s homestead.
As expected Mawiri, in her usual calmness, told the dream in detail after which she closed her eyes and died. Everyone began to mourn, both because Mawiri was an important member of our village, and she had not yet given her words of wisdom on this problem. The king then stood up as he we was still trembling, he asked ‘does any of you remember our ancestors’ rain song?’
No one responded…
And I woke up thinking, it is our own dream, and I’m sure the story continues but even in our sleep/dreams our bodies become fearful and wake us up… Our dreams need to filter into our awaken[ness] to compensate for these fears, a kind of confrontation with these parallel worlds.