A DREAM.
By G.W.S.Ware.
August,5,1938.
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A dream is what passes through the mind during sleep.
Several men have written books how to live a hundred years, and failed to reach that
point, themselves. Books on dreams are many and cheap, but not as cheap as their contents.
No one can foretell a dream, and not many can tell them afterwards, correctly; for
generally, things that are seen are too rare for earth, and the combinations no words can
picture. Dreams, never try to please their dreamer or themselves; they are without law or
order, come from nowhere, and live in a country no one can visit intentionally. No liar
from their country can ever be caught in this, for lack of evidence. A dream has nothing
behind it but the dreamers word and personality. It is never seen but often felt. It never
comes when bidden, or leave when ordered. Some men defy God and man, but are led around by
their dreams, whether they desire to go or not. A dream never waits for permission to do
anything. Rough shod it treads down the will of man, makes him a slave to see and do
things he abhors; or else lead into ecstatic scenes that one would fain see forever.
Last night a dream had me, which I did start, but it startled me. I knew not when I
left, but I was from home, along a road on a mountain side. Down below to my right, out of
sight, ran a river, how I knew I know not. I was uneasy, and anxious to go home for safety
from the coming night; and in order to do so, I must needs go down to the river, cross
over and go home from the other side. So I turned down a steep hollow, and glided down on
my shoe soles, thinking the river was up, and I must look for a footlog to cross over; but
when I got there the river was low, and up apeice, was a shallow place, and when I got
there I was barefooted, and waded over, without rolling up my breeches. When I got on the
low banks of the other side, I was in Florida, Union County, and Providence village was my
home, near where I lived, when a boy. It was all woods, and no roads, but a flat country
and timber everywhere. Knew my home was a mile or two away, felt sure I could find it. As
I scrambled through the woods I found I had an empty tinbucket, and a stick about two feet
long, for what purpose, I did not think. I met no one and saw no houses. Then a young
woman came tearing through the briers like she was crazy. I called to her to tell me the
way to Providence, but she let on like I was not there. Then a middle aged woman was there
looking after the girl, She talked to the girl, but said nothing to me, but seemed anxious
about me, away out there in the wilderness, with a stick, an emty bucket, in shabby
clothes. I reckon I was barefooted, but I was so anxious to get home, I took no time to
look down. I left those women to their fate and hurried on. I knew I was lost, and had no
idea of direction to find Providence. After I had worn myself to a frazzle, I came to a
man who was building a house on a knoll in that country. Timber all around, up to the
horizon, and no Providence in sight. When I told him where I was going, he said:
"Man, you are going the wrong way, Providence, is nine miles in the North West."
The prospect of nine more miles was a load to carry, but I had to go on, as the man was
not friendly. Around a bend I came to where an other man had a sorry looking place, and I
heard him hammering in his crib, but I had no heart to call, because of my shabby clothes,
empty bucket and short stick. I passed on and found another house of better appearance,
but did not call, as I thought my case was hopeless; over some low ground, and then on a
rise was a new graded road. Directly, a young man came along and stopped, but acted like I
was not there. Away out in the woods like we were, such treatment is a direct insult, to
ones personality; but I did not use my stick on him, for I wanted information, not blood.
As politely as I could I ask him: where does this new road lead to? In angry tone his curt
answer was: "It leads to where we want it to go." Now two insults, on top of
each other, is quite an injury. Still, I did not get mad to use my stick, for above all
things I wanted to get home. I felt that without home, nothing else was worth attention.
So I politely ask him the direction, and distance to Providence. He seemed to relent, and
pointed over a long stretch of uncut timber, and said: "It is 19 miles." I had
stood a good deal, but this was my limit. My sub-conscious-mind had to give way to common
sense, and the change woke me up, to find that mountain air was blowing in, giving me cold
feet, which had carried me into the wilds of two States.
