I have trouble living in the moment. The past and the future are never far out of mind. I used to think that Petka could ground me, but she, too, is blurry. I feel as though I’m seeing her in many dimensions, wrapping what was and what may be in one tiny body, in one moment of time. It’s difficult to follow the world when it shifts constantly. I forget the fruit trees have not yet been planted beside the road, the fences are not built, and I am confused to see leaves after dreaming snow.
The other night I dreamt her in the soft colors of memory, a big girl with brothers and a front yard to play in, all a glow with flowers: Hollyhocks, roses, lilies of all shades, and sunflowers. I like to think it’s the future peeping back at us, but dreams are such uncertain things. I only know they’re true for certain when they come in threes, one night after another, or when there’s something under my head - like wedding cake - to feed prediction.
Tonight I think my dreams will be slow, meaningless things, with the sounds of late night radio running through them. I can’t wait to welcome them in.
I think we're probably not supposed to be still. Or perhaps we can only achieve stillness in Him -- those gifted moments in which we step out of the time-running-like-a-river into eternity. I think it's supposed to be like that to remind us we're not meant long for this world.
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