Dream Image

I had an incredible dream a few nights ago. I was in a big room in a skyscraper, like a newsroom, with desks and computers and wide glass windows. I looked out at the street and saw this marvel: four or five men were carrying tall poles that bore a huge ashen mass above them, like a dark cloud. It was thick but not solid, it kept moving on top of their poles and it was shedding bits here and there. There was a theatrical sense to the image, as if the men were mummers or maypolers on parade. Also a kind of Tarot or occult feel. Even in the dream I knew I was looking at something wondrous. On waking, I was reminded of lines from one of my favourite poems by Wallace Stevens:
These are the ashes of fiery weather,
Of nights full of the green stars from Ireland,
Wet out of the sea and luminously wet,
Like beautiful and abandoned refugees.
I believe the dream has to do with my new book, the adult spiritual novel I am writing called People of the Great Journey. In fact, I've added the image into one of the last chapters. I'm almost finished the penultimate draft. Only three more chapters to go. Then I have to do a final draft. It's already 331 pages. A big work. I'm curious to see how it will be received. Whenever you go too close to matters of the soul in this place - I mean on this planet - there is always fall-out. The materialists rule. For some reason, most of us do not want to be reminded that we are souls exploring physical reality, unless the reminder is packaged safely in a religious format. (Indeed, organised religions are materialist in practice while purporting to serve the soul.) Artists who work in 'the smithy of the soul' are often sidelined, e.g. Sharon Butala below who is, I believe, Canada's greatest writer and not recognised as such.