Passing on the Dream

Standing atop the Palisades, the Hudson River winding beneath me, I watch the stars fade and an indigo night pale to a soft, muted, shade of blue. In the silent hush before dawn I hear the whispered words of a language I don't speak, feel the presence of a people I've never met, and see tall masts and billowing sails of a ship that used to be.

My legs are aching and I shift my feet carefully lest I step on a stone and tumble down onto the sharp rocks below. I shiver in the cool damp air, pull my coat closer to hold in what's left of my body heat and wonder why I've come to this empty place only blocks from my crowded neighborhood.

My heart knows the answer. The dreams have brought me here. For weeks, I've watched my own silhouette emerging from the deep shadows of night to greet the dawn in this place and each morning I've pondered the why of it. I've been frightened to come, afraid of the height of the cliffs, the loneliness of the spot, of being spotted by the police and hauled in for questioning. How could I explain? "I'm not suicidal, Officer, I'm here because of a dream."

The sky is paler yet and I know time is short. Will it really happen or am I just a fool? I look nervously behind me, no people yet, no commuters driving along Boulevard East heading toward the bridges and tunnels that will take them into the teeming city.

The City. New York City, the Island of Manhattan, is appearing slowly from the mist. This is the famous skyline that everyone in the world has seen in pictures and yet no one knows that to see it this way, you have to be in New Jersey.

At last! An explosion of color as the sun rises behind the buildings, pink, amber, orange and gold, bathing skyscrapers in light and shadow, pouring through the streets of New York, spilling west into the river and rushing towards me. I look up as I hear what I've been waiting for and feel a current of air blowing my way. My arms stretch out to welcome them and two ravens, black as the night that's just ended, descend heavily, causing me to stagger back a step.

As I regain my balance, they amble up to my shoulders and arrange themselves for comfort and safety. Smooth feathers brush my cheeks and I feel the strength and grip of sharp talons through my coat.

We stand there, the ravens and I, as if in a dream while they whisper their wisdom quietly in my ears, sharing memories of the creatures, the land and the people. They warn me not to forget we are all one, and urge me to cherish and keep the gifts of the Creator.

As the day begins again on both sides of the Hudson, the ravens, Memory and Thought, depart, charging me to pass on the dream and to pursue it with love.