Table Mountain panorama asked me to describe a dream that I had that was prophetic in nature.

Oh, there are many that I could write about. I could write about dreaming of helicopters the night Stevie Ray Vaughan crashed into a hillside. I could write of the recurring dreams I had of a friend being uncharacteristically confused at the same time that he was having a nervous breakdown 3000 miles away. I could write of the songs I dream that emerge from the guitar a week or so later, already familiar to me.

But in the end, I'll choose to write about a recurring dream that, while not specifically prophetic, does have resonance for me whenever it recurs.

I am in a dark room, a cube, there is absolutely no light, I don't even know if my eyes are open. But I do know that there is a trapdoor in the ceiling of the cube, and somewhere near, a step-ladder by which to reach it. Anxious, I walk the room – hands out to find the step-ladder, which I climb until my fingers find the trap-door's latch. I fling it open and sunlight filters in. The sky outside is hazy and I emerge to stand on a mountain-top. From this high place, I can see all of life stretched below me, including, far in the distance, nearly obscured by horizon and clouds, my current situation: school, university, workplace, wherever I was when the dream visited me. I breathe deeply of the clear mountain air, feeling my pulse and breath and am at peace.

The symbology is pretty easy in this one, and its prophecy is always to tell me it's time to continue my journey and stretch to my next evolution. There is no destination, there is no anxiety, there is just the emergence from darkness to the understanding and acceptance of what has passed, the readiness to move onward.

It's a warm, loving and full feeling to stand on the mountain-top.

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