The dream of the jade forest

Dear R,

I felt so wonderful just lying next to you today. It reached a point I didn’t know what I should do
 to stop myself feeling as though I was rising up to the sky. I found myself with the breeze and the rain and angels who were old friends.

When bells tolled in my mind or my ears, I admit that I couldn’t tell if it
 was real, but, we all know a temple song when we hear one. I feel extremely light these days,
 like paper, gossamer silk or feather maybe.

I dreamt you handed me a purple rag, looked me square in the eye
 and said “Tie it so you’re blind”
 and I did.
 I know we drove in a rickshaw because there was wind in my hair
 and gold in my covered eyes, which I can only assume was the sunlight.
You played Art Blakey on your cellphone and we hummed along
 as best we could to his skipping songs
 of pink moons and river men and their beautiful women.

When we reached where I didn’t know, you untied the blindfold. The scent of mossy dampness drifted through gilded air.
 Before me I saw lengths and lengths of ribbon upon ribbon
 tied round the trees of the jade forest you’d brought me to.


Feathers fluttered upon the breeze
 hanging down from their trimming like hands reaching lower, to pull me off my feet.
 And there below you’d dug a hole, straight to the centre of the earth.
 You said look down and see all the loveliness of the universe. See the diamond, the amethyst, the silver and the turquoise.
 See the tall blue giraffes and the magic of love.

When I woke up, you were still lying next to me, breathing softly.

Yours,
S