Indeed, it was Old Granny in my rocking chair dream. Her back was to me, and the rocker creaked upon the wooden floor. I could see her white hair, and heard the clicking of knitting needles. I approached from behind, and bent to see what marvel she had produced. Nothing. Her hands had many fingers. I sought to look at her face, and she turned away, saying you must help me with the knitting. I stammered that I did not know how, and at last she said but you have all of the yarn. Then, blue deepness, unfathomable until morning.
Our subconscious, of necessity, is our savior. Dark things we bury, sometimes forever. Dreams and nightmares of great import wait in store, but recall is random and without choice. It may come in the bright light of day, and the thing revealed is turned over in the waking mind, like a warm flat stone inscribed with vexing runes.
In my interview with Khostra, the fast flood of visions, symbols, and emotions had made their cryptic imprint within my own subconscious, and our disconnect had left me with a feeling of loss. Of losing the thread of some essential story. But, she had smiled a knowing smile. It was one of reassurance, and I had gone to my sleep feeling held in warmth.
In the deepness of blue between the rocking chair dream and my tardy awakening
(by Raymond), I completed the knitting at Grandma’s behest. After all, I did have the yarn. It was Khostra’s yarn of many colours, knitted into the fabric of time.
Raymond handed me a hot mug, and we took a solitary stroll. There was much to speak of, and, with each sip of stale coffee, my excitement grew. I wondered if Khostra would return.
to be continued….