A Dream of Wakefulness Copyright 1994 David Green What is it that causes people to dream of things beyond their grasp? What hope drives them to imagine fantasies that they know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, are not, and have not been, and cannot be? Perhaps even more interesting is to wonder what would happen were they to be presented with their dreams in a real, tangible form--one that makes them nothing more than mundane reality, shunted into a different, but depressingly real, form. Is it the fantastic nature of these dreams that compels us to hold them so tightly to our hearts? Do we want them, only because we know that we cannot have them? --- In the lower reaches of the Cascade mountains, between the mountains called Hood and Adams, the Columbia River carves a path for itself to the Pacific Ocean. The sharp drops created in this gorge make for some very picturesque waterfalls, which, in turn, makes for somewhat of a tourist trap. The degree of "tourist trap" varies with the height and accessibility of the waterfalls; Multnomah, the tallest and most visible, sports a snack bar, restaurant, gift shop, and hotel, and many of the others feature paved-asphalt paths to and from bridges and closer viewpoints. What isn't accessible by paved paths can more than likely be reached along a network of dirt trails that crisscross through the gorge area. Many of these trails are unmarked; the more adventurous visitor may wander along the smaller of these to see what wonders they lead to--sometimes, a seldom-seen waterfall of much splendor; others, merely to muddy bends of wandering creeks, or nowhere in particular at all, simply dying in a thicket of brambles or a thick copse of young Douglas firs. Regardless of any commercialism and blatant human invasion, I found the gorge a beautiful place to visit. The soft mist of the waterfalls was a pleasure to feel during the hot days of summer, enhanced by the majesty of the cascading streams themselves. Summer was gradually fading into fall on this day in particular when I rested in the gorge, sprawled on a rock beside a small creek, basking in the sun. Lazily, I let my eyes slip shut, enjoying the warmth dancing over my skin. I don't remember now what it was that caused me to open them again--some hint of a noise, perhaps, half-heard as I lay sunning myself. Or perhaps it was nothing more than a sense of presence, the feeling that someone else was nearby. Regardless of the reason, I slowly opened my eyes and sat up, looking around. I honestly don't know what I expected to see--another person exploring the trails, or maybe some animal, like a deer or a raccoon. As it turned out, I was, in some way, right on both counts. I sat up sharply and stared at the figure that approached me. He wore a royal blue scarf wrapped around his head, through which only his face and his ears were visible. His pants, rough, brown, and apparently homespun, reached just below his knees and stopped. His shirt was white and cottony, sewn up the front, with a pair of drawstrings near the center of his chest. From one ear hung a golden hoop, simple and unadorned. He stood as a man, on two legs; at his side, two arms; there, though, his similarity to a man stopped. The ears that rose from the scarf were a cat's, as was the face the royal-blue cloth framed. Yellow-gold eyes regarded me piercingly, and a tail swayed slowly behind. Hands and feet like paws were velveted. Tawny fur covered what of his frame I could see. And then, he spoke. His voice was pleasant to hear, and, at some point, completely indescribable. Certainly, the range I can name (tenor), and I can say that some letters were drawn out--like S's and O's, for example--but there was some quality to it, something that made it completely inhuman, something that no one who has never heard can understand. The language he used was similarly indescribable--but what language that you're not familiar with isn't?--and similarly pleasant. I suppose the best justice that I can give it was that it sounded as if he were a cat singing. Not mere caterwauling, like the stray in the back alley, but a beautiful, melodic singing. My only regret was that I couldn't make out a word of it. Foolishly (or perhaps from lack of a better alternative), I answered in kind. "I can't understand what you're saying." To emphasize my point, I touched my ears lightly, and shook my head. He paused, staring a bit beyond me mutely. I was afraid I'd lost him or made some mistake before he seemed to refocus on my presence. "I'm ssoorrry," he said to me, his English somewhat singsong, and not nearly as harmonious as his native tongue. "I did noot knoww yyourr natiff tonngue, ssoo I musst needed asssimilate it in hearrrinng it firrrsst." I blinked, and stared a moment. "Assimilate?" "Yesss..." He gave me a peculiar look. "Yyou cannnot doo? Thaat iss too baad..." "I don't believe that I can," I said, slowly. I don't think it had occurred to me just how odd my current situation was, since I was still able to answer at all. "Too baad," he said again, nodding. "Caan yyou do me a favorr?" "I.. suppose," I said, not sure quite how else to answer. "What do you need?" "Caan yyou tellr me wherrre II aam?" It took me a couple seconds to decipher that question around the accent. "Where you are?" He flicked one ear, a sign that I took to mean assent. "Umm... the Columbia River Gorge." He looked at me uncomprehendingly. "Wherrre?" I tried again. "Columbia River Gorge... Oregon? America?" He still looked confused. "Earth?" That provoked at least a minor response from him--he ceased looking confused, and looked thoughful instead. "Earrrth," he mused quietly. "I am faarrr frrom wherrre I wissshed to be. Have hearrrd of Earrrth, but noot waanted to fisssit. No maagic, no beliverrrs." He stopped and thought again, then flicked his ear at me again. "I will rrreturrn to my jourrrney. Yyou come withh me?" I stopped. I gaped. "Come with you?" A million thoughts all raced through my mind at once, vying for my full attention. ---It's your _dream_, David. A fantasy realm, magic, your 'morphs.. Your _dream_!...--- ---Whatever it is, it's not real. Why would he even want to offer such a thing to you?--- ---Wonder what magic's like there? Wouldn't it be neat to find out?--- ---What about what you have here, already? How can you just leave that?--- ---Perhaps that reality is more mundane that what you have here. Perhaps more. Indeed, perhaps less, but is what you have really so bad?--- His voice pre-empted the chaos of the remaining whispers in my mind. "I think yyou would llrike my hoome. Therrre's maagic, aand believerrrs, maaany of each. Earrrth iss boorrring.. I'lll take yyou wherrre yyou caan haaffe ffun, learrrrn magic, perrrhapss learrrn to sshape yyoursselff llrike me. What ssay yyou?" I paused. My mind was still holding a caucus amongst itself, with no clear winner emerging in the myriad debates. "Dream," I mumbled, not quite aware that I did so. The cougar gave me a half-odd, half-smiling look. "Desscide ssoon," he told me. "I sshould be llreavinng ssoon.." I sat back again, and sighed softly. A conclusion had been reached (though factions of my mind, still determined to be right, argued on), and I knew it was the correct one. "Thank you for the offer, but I think I'm happy as I am, here.." His eyes widened slightly. "Yyou ssurre? Yyou sssaid it waasss a drrream.." Nodding, I said, "I did. And it was. And it still is. That's why I can't accept your offer... If I exchange my dream for reality , and it doesn't live up to it--I lose it, forever. It's no longer a thing of magic and wonder for me, but another dreary reality." He snorted. "Thaat iss no rreassson." "Perhaps not to you," I said, "but it is for me." Strangely, or so it seems on reflection, I smiled. "Maybe someday if you come back, I'll be ready for it. But for now.. my dream is a dream, and I want it to remain so." "Yyou arre crrazzy," he told me shortly, looking at me with an odd expression-- odd even for an anthropomorphic cougar. "Maybe I'llr come baack, maybe noot. Farre wellr, sstrrange one." Before I could say anything more, he had taken a single step and disappeared. --- Since then, I have wondered many times about two things. One is whether the cougar will ever come back. Even were it not a dream--and that, I can neither refute nor affirm--I have come to doubt it. I think he believes me mad, and perhaps everyone else on Earth as well. I wonder, though, if he had ever confronted -his- dreams before--looked them straight in the eye--and discovered them for what they truly were. Dreams are fantasies, sometimes never to be realized, and with good reason. The other thing I wonder is whether I made the right choice. But when I think about my life, no matter how much I dislike parts of it on occasions, I have learned to count what blessings there are, and to know that I don't have it so bad, after all. For now, I'll continue to dream my dreams of fantasy, and to live another dream--a dream of wakefulness.