On the night of a penumbral eclipse (when the Earth passes through the outer shadow of the Moon), I woke, and sleep-stumbled out of my bedroom out onto the deck to see the subtle light changes of a penumbral eclipse. Without my glasses, and half asleep, all I could observe was the strange quality of the light. But I nearly tripped over a chair and, because my deck was in the process of being redone and had no railings, I was certain I was going to kill myself so I went back to bed.
And then I had this dream.
I had journeyed to Mountain Gardens, that small bit of paradise created by the wizard Joe Hollis. He had passed away many months before, but in the dream he was very much alive. I sat with him on the deck that overlooked his magical gardens and, further out, a layered horizon of mountain ridges. (This was not the actual Mountain Gardens, but a dream version.) It was a summer night and we could see and feel the buzzing of life in the dark understory of the forest as we looked up at the sky.
In my dream it was also a penumbral eclipse, but here the sky was a vivd pink scattered with small clouds and a slightly dimmed Moon. And then a great bat—massive, archetypal, breathaking—was flying over us and we understood immediately that it was a great gift to see this Being. We were awestruck into silence. After the moment passed, Joe stood up and said, in his matter-of-a-fact way, “Well, that makes for a good night.” And off he went to bed.
Nearly a year after this dream, during a bout with covid, I watched the film, Paradise, about Joe’s life and death, and in one scene a close friend says, “…I saw what that meant, when someone spends like decades accumulating everything that there is to know about some particular subject, like bats.”
Shortly after I had another dream. I went to Mountain Gardens again (this time in its waking life location), to visit Joe as he was preparing to die. He’s in a rocking chair, surrounded by books and herbs and young people. I go and sit next to him and say, “I have to tell you about a dream I had. I guess I’m time looping, because I had this dream after you died.”
“Oh, time looping,” he says, “I love time looping.”
So then I tell him my great bat dream, how we were here at Mountain Gardens, and there was a penumbral eclipse, and it was summer, and the forest was wild with sound, and how the sky was pink, and a great bat soared overhead, a huge bat, an archetypal bat. And he was especially fascinated with this. He was asking about what kind of bat it was, and I had to explain that it was a bat that doesn’t exist in our reality, it was just too big.
“And then you got up,” I said, “and said, ‘that’s a good night’ all matter of a fact,” and I touched him on the shoulder and we laughed. I got up to leave then, not wanting to take up any more of his precious time.
I wasn’t close to Joe, but certainly was inspired by him, and what he had done with his life, as anyone who knew him was. But in the Otherworld of dreams, sometimes the gates open, and the Great Bat flies in. We are left awestruck and humbled with the gifts we are given, in this realm, as in the in-between. There is no cessation of wonder.
On the night of a penumbral eclipse (when the Earth passes through the outer shadow of the Moon), I woke, and sleep-stumbled out of my bedroom out onto the deck to see the subtle light changes of a penumbral eclipse. Without my glasses, and half asleep, all I could observe was the strange quality of the light. But I nearly tripped over a chair and, because my deck was in the process of being redone and had no railings, I was certain I was going to kill myself so I went back to bed.
And then I had this dream.
I had journeyed to Mountain Gardens, that small bit of paradise created by the wizard Joe Hollis. He had passed away many months before, but in the dream he was very much alive. I sat with him on the deck that overlooked his magical gardens and, further out, a layered horizon of mountain ridges. (This was not the actual Mountain Gardens, but a dream version.) It was a summer night and we could see and feel the buzzing of life in the dark understory of the forest as we looked up at the sky.
In my dream it was also a penumbral eclipse, but here the sky was a vivd pink scattered with small clouds and a slightly dimmed Moon. And then a great bat—massive, archetypal, breathaking—was flying over us and we understood immediately that it was a great gift to see this Being. We were awestruck into silence. After the moment passed, Joe stood up and said, in his matter-of-a-fact way, “Well, that makes for a good night.” And off he went to bed.
Nearly a year after this dream, during a bout with covid, I watched the film, Paradise, about Joe’s life and death, and in one scene a close friend says, “…I saw what that meant, when someone spends like decades accumulating everything that there is to know about some particular subject, like bats.”
Shortly after I had another dream. I went to Mountain Gardens again (this time in its waking life location), to visit Joe as he was preparing to die. He’s in a rocking chair, surrounded by books and herbs and young people. I go and sit next to him and say, “I have to tell you about a dream I had. I guess I’m time looping, because I had this dream after you died.”
“Oh, time looping,” he says, “I love time looping.”
So then I tell him my great bat dream, how we were here at Mountain Gardens, and there was a penumbral eclipse, and it was summer, and the forest was wild with sound, and how the sky was pink, and a great bat soared overhead, a huge bat, an archetypal bat. And he was especially fascinated with this. He was asking about what kind of bat it was, and I had to explain that it was a bat that doesn’t exist in our reality, it was just too big.
“And then you got up,” I said, “and said, ‘that’s a good night’ all matter of a fact,” and I touched him on the shoulder and we laughed. I got up to leave then, not wanting to take up any more of his precious time.
I wasn’t close to Joe, but certainly was inspired by him, and what he had done with his life, as anyone who knew him was. But in the Otherworld of dreams, sometimes the gates open, and the Great Bat flies in. We are left awestruck and humbled with the gifts we are given, in this realm, as in the in-between. There is no cessation of wonder.