The Watcher in My Dreams
Whether I close my eyes in meditation or in dreams, he is there. The watcher.
Exceptâ€¦he’s not watching me.
He’s in almost every dream now. Â Sometimes indoors, sometimes outside. Â Always on the outskirts of my dreams. Â Unobtrusive. Â Occasionally but seldom participating. But present.
In this last dream before morning, I understand. Finally. Â I know why he’s here.
I am walking outside, on a hill, and there he is. Â Again. Â In his usual posture.
Sitting in the grass. Â His long legs stretched out in front of him. Â Legs crossed at the ankles. Barefoot but capable of doing harm if defense is required. Â Propping himself upright on straight, bare arms beneath short sleeves that belie the seriousness of his function.
He squints out at the expanse Â before him, scanning the hillside, the valley below, the distant clouds. Â Watching.
I stand behind him, watching the watcher. He does not look up at me. He does not acknowledge me or laugh or smile or speak. Â He simply watches.
He is many things, but here in the terrain between the worlds, he is a watcher and protector. Â He doesn’t watch me, or hinder me, or change my wanderings in any way. Â He simply watches. Â Watches those things beyond us.Â Â The things I cannot see.
He does not stand in full armor or with blade in hand, though I’m sure he has blades at the ready if needed. Â He has the coolness of a warrior who knows he will be quick enough with any weapon as long as his eyes are keen.
And so he watches.