the sound of crackling snow seemed to come from up ahead so i stopped to listen. but he nudged me from behind, felling me from the sheer shock and awe of it: bumped by a big beautiful buck. and as i sat in the snow he nudged me again, on my forehead.
grabbing his large antlers felt like the thing to do as he kept his majestic head so low. and, with a mighty if effortless movement, he swung me up to my feet and flipped me onto his back. so i rode the buck along a whitened wonderland while, not overthinking the situation, allowing myself to appreciate the moment: significantly overwhelmed, spectacularly happy, as a diaphanous snow-fall enhanced the scene.
it was a dream, of course it was. but does it matter? i often wonder whether my stream of consciousness is real or imagined in the nights. and the ancient sages have said that this all is a dream to someone with an awakened mind, a magical illusory show.
it occurred to me, however, with only a modicum of apprehension, that i might never find my way back from the dream. so, as we approached a lake i’d never seen before, i tugged his antlers, coaxed him around. only, he did a kind of animistic pirouette instead. i tugged again and again he went all ‘round with a primal grace. finally, laughing uproariously and fabulously dizzy, i got him headed in the right direction.
at the truck he waited while i changed my socks. and as snow took my place upon his back he nudged me one last time before fading into white.
‘i dreamed i was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then i awoke. now i wonder: am i a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am i a butterfly dreaming that i am a man.’ zhuangzi.