Dream Time is available for sale on Kindle, Kindle Unlimited service for free, and KDP. amzn/B00NLKI7AG Excerpt: I had a dream when I was very young. In the dream, I looked down on a sweeping plain of grass that was back-lit by a dying sun. That sun had just disappeared over the horizon, leaving the world in that ghostly grey light before total darkness. It was enough to allow me to pick out the thousands of people walking there. Their faces weren’t blank, but had that rather softly determined expression worn by people expecting a long journey. They were neither hostile nor friendly. Their eyes were all on the distance with a distinct lack of anticipation for their intended destination. In modern, drab colored clothing from all walks of life Native American men, women, and children, walked together in near silence. I remember I felt strange and at a loss as to why so many people were going away. In my latter years, I often recalled that dream and puzzled over it. Had it been a message of some sort? A warning? It’s nice to think yourself that important, and I was no exception, but I couldn’t think what, if anything, I was supposed to do. The dream hadn’t come with instructions. I never told anyone about it and that was strange considering how often I sat and wondered about whether it had some prophetic meaning I was missing. I suppose I was embarrassed about it. If I had been supposed to spring into action and save the day, I had failed miserably. It was some comfort to remind myself of the reality of the situation: Why would Native Americans send a dream message to someone like me? I was, after all, a genetic mutt with a list of shaky ancestors connected to the family only by conversations that usually began with, Your great aunt once told me… If I was Native American then the blood was thinned by a few generations and some sidelining on the genetic ancestry tree. Besides, I was living in the deep south near the Gulf of Mexico, selling souvenirs to tourists and baking on the beach during my off hours. That made messianic thoughts even more ridiculous. Don’t get me wrong, I did have dreams of writing that big bestselling novel or selling my rather poor water color painting efforts to a famous gallery, but as time wore on, those dreams were becoming less likely every year. Approaching middle age was telling me to settle, become a manager of the souvenir shop, and think about retirement. I wasn’t counting on a customer blowing into my shop on a hot southern morning and setting a fire under my ass.
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 12:33:55 +0000
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