It's exactly what it implies.
There is something quietly magical and mysterious about the still, dark, winter night sky. It's just romantic, both in metaphor and in reality, but it's also nearly impossible to grasp. It seems always just out of reach and overwhelming in concept and in entirety, respectively. It makes me feel in full scope how wrong the world is or how wrong I am or just how inferior my human attempts at living life right are. In looking for a photo to go with this entry, I realized that the aurora borealis gives exactly the same kind of impressed emotion. That kind of surpressed feeling that makes you want to explode just to get out of your body, which makes you feel so momentarily trapped. It never lasts and it's so intriguing but it also so humbling that I just don't know what to do with it and then hustle in the house with girls as I realize I'm getting cold and have a handful of something (bags, stacks of books, leftovers from supper at Darlene's.) I'm really not on drugs. I've just never tried to explain this before.
It's what makes me the crazy, Latina, life-absorbing, miracle-observing chick that I am. But I find it no coincidence (or perhaps CrAzY coincidence altogether!) that the aurora, the stars, the sky--all of it--work together to woo me in this crazy, cold north living with a man who I wonder may have been in a dream I had before I even knew him. Yes, I know. That might be going too far...
But it begs the question: what if?
This dream is so old it's hard to believe I still think about it. Several years ago (thirteen or fourteen), I had a dream one night where the only details I remember are that it was in the middle of winter, the middle of the night, I was in a cabin that resembled the mobile home I used to live in, and several girls wandering around, all in some form of a white dress. (Pajamas? Smocks? Hard to say.) They were all just walking around, doing aimless tasks and I remembered wondering (a little self-righteously) what in the hell they were doing and what for.
Next I remember being across the living room and standing in front of the window. I remember looking out into the bitterly cold night, I remember wondering how cold it was, not wanting to find out, and I remember the sparkling, expansive, untouched blanket of snow on the field that stretched past the horizon. It was like I knew the air outside was unbearable and Arctic-like (being a girl from Wyoming), but was still standing super cozy and warm inside. In the meantime, I took in the dark, black-purple sky, riddled with stars and just stared, half breathless, into the midnight sky.
But I also remember that just as momentarily as I perceived cold, warmth, and wonderment, I perceived absolute desolation because there was nowhere to go and no way to get out. I wouldn't have known which direction to go and no one seemed interested in getting away anyway, seeing something new, experiencing life past this two-dimensional way of living. It was desperately lacking.
That's not all. If you've ever had to transition from experiencing pain to accepting it, you'll understand this next part. I realized how separated we were from other people and it felt instantly crushing. I actually felt physical pain. Somehow this translated into knowing I would never find love and the whole entire realization--of being cut off from the world and not getting the chance to experience true love (cheese alert!! cheese alert!!)--just killed me. I had to take this enormous sadness, accept it, and somehow turn it around.
The next thing I remember was holding the front door open for someone who, I guess, had come by in passing. It was a guy, a man, a tall, broad man, who barely fit the door frame and he was covered in furs all the way up to his eyes, eyes I couldn't see, but somehow captivated me through this jolt of electric energy that I couldn't perceive. Energy and connection that was beyond first or second impression, and I was amazed, incredulous, relieved, and inexplicably light-hearted at the thought of his presence. Yet he was right there in front of me and there was something about him, something about the way we connected, that I knew he was meant for me and I was meant for him. I woke up sad to leave the dream but with a smile for a sense of purpose.
It's so ooey-gooey (and it's SO me), but the overall purpose of the dream seemed bigger than me and all my gooey-eyed perceptions of romance or even life.
The point is, it stuck with me for a good long while and then it went away. After graduation and a few failed experiences, life went on and I got a real good dose of reality as I searched for jobs 7 months pregnant and moved on with homework, bottles, diapers, daycare, and concert rehearsals. I totally forgot about it.
Enter Kyle. And the world around me changed again. The way our relationship unfolded and the way he treated me made feel just like I did in that dream (the good part, that is.) Then that's when I remembered the dream. All the comparisons since then of my life with him always involve some kind of recollection of that dream. It makes me wonder--it has always made me wonder--if maybe there was purpose to that dream, purpose beyond my own agenda, divine intervention perhaps or if it was just that I wanted to relish in the coincidence so much that I subconsiously made it so.
I highly doubt the latter, no matter what the cynics believe. I don't need that dream to know what the beautiful inscription of Kyle in my life means or how blessed I am to have him in my life. I simply know that both the reality of Kyle in my life and the dream of someone very like him are connected. The comparisons will be left to a later entry.