When I retired one evening,
I dreamt that I was an artist,
Living in Greco Roman times.
My best beloved was a sweet, strong man,
This archetypal Bridegroom… retrieved
From the memory bank of my soul.
Together we painted murals,
Ground from precious gemstones,
On upper class villa walls, as I recall.
We laid exquisite mosaics of colour…
Floated into fantasy walls and floors
And heavenly ceilings of tile.
In the soft, warmth of an evening,
My love and I would clasp each other’s hands…
While strolling through summers’ green, flowering gardens,
And melding into a dreamscape of love.
Awoke, I did suddenly, to my present life…
And that dream-vision, made me joyful smile.
Why does playing in a sandbox of dreams
Open our unconscious memories
And carry us through this difficult life,
As we are walking slowly toward paradise?
Ask Carl Jung, that is his department.
Yet, when I retire this evening,
I pray that I dream again, that I am that lover…artist,
Strolling happily, back in that garden with Him.
By Máire Ní Bhroin
