Dream of Wheat

Dream of Wheat

Back in college, I dreamt one night about wheat. While I don’t recall the particulars–years erode memories–I remember the intensity of color. The vibrant sun shining on a bright yellow field filled me with wonder. At the time, I’m unsure now why, it struck me as vaguely sexual, but to paraphrase Freud (shrugging his shoulders): What isn’t?

Upon waking, I wrote down the dream, then began a rather lengthy project of molding my impressions, as is my wont, into poetry. What an impossible task it seemed to me–as if I were charged with rebuilding the sun! If I could find the poem, I’d consider posting it here, but Fate, a cruel mistress, has decided otherwise. For what it’s worth, my recollection is that it included the requisite allusion to Aldous Huxley, a soft-R depiction of Gaea’s long blonde hair streaming across my face during the impassioned throes of our lovemaking, & lithe, lean lions with golden manes. How all of these came together in a wheat field, I honestly don’t know, but back then, I had a thing for lions–& blondes!

Like Richard Dreyfus in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, I became rather obsessed with the dream’s imagery. Frustrated by the poem’s failure, like lumpy mashed potatoes, to capture the experience–dreams are experience– even though I’d not painted in several years, I attempted to recreate it in a watercolor (I’d dabbled in high school, though I much preferred acrylics & oils). The above image is of the wheat field, but feeling that it lacked the dream’s vivacity, I flipped the image over (see below) & called it, "Daybreak at Clearwater." I used to live there.

Daybreak at Clearwater