the oracle of dreams
in the middle of the night my dreams make me face them,
all my unfulfilled hopes and my unrealized fears
worm their way into my dreams,
I often feel like a pilgrim
visiting the oracle at Delphi,
hearing clearly the words and seeing the images given to me
but flummoxed by the ambiguity of the surface meaning,
deep within me I feel the warnings, the charge,
but it's cursed hard to retranslate dream language into what I can know,
I have to blunder through,
to bludgeon the truth
from the metaphors within which I live at night,
so that I can move forward,
I have to trust a translation that seems, at best, approximate,
and, at times, inexplicable.
by Henry H. Walker
January 23, ‘25
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