Dream: Book of Ur

I wasn’t fully sleep. But I wasn’t fully awake, either. Sitting at the bus stop, enjoying some peace and quiet before my daughter arrived from school. She had just texted me, her bus was late arriving to the school. No worries, I texted back, I would take a nap and wait for her.

The winds had picked up quite fiercely. I had to dodge big rig trucks that were not prepared for the sudden gusts that pushed them into the neighboring lane. Safely parked at the side street, my car was broadside to the wind. I was continually rocked in the wind’s cradle. Naptime.

My last waking thought before slipping sideways into the dream was an examination of sigils and symbols I had accrued in my head. Because of the winds enveloping my little car, most of them were Air related. I felt the shift as it happened. I tumbled out of the reclined driver’s seat and onto a little puffy cloud that was waiting for me. The winds were no longer restrained by the car’s cabin and blew directly onto and around my form. In the wind was the unspoken whisper, “Pay attention.”

I sat up on the cloud, allowing my feet to dangle off the edge. ~splash~ I looked over the edge to see the cloud was a mere foot from the surface of a body of water. My feet and ankles were wet and the scent of sea spray wafted upwards. I hear another splash in front of me. I sit up and look towards the direction of the sound. I see a man, standing just inside the surf. The waves are gentle, more like ripples. He is standing so that when the waves ebb, he is still standing in the ocean, but just barely.

I don’t recognize any of the scenery around me, but I know where I am. On the eastern edge of the Mediterranean Sea, on the shore of Israel. I’m not sure when I am, however. I see not a single artifact of modern culture. A quick look around shows a pristine environment, where no earth-movers, bulldozers, or all-terrain vehicles has ever been.

I get the feeling that time is severely rationed here, and return my attention to the man. He is dressed in a tunic made of unbleached linen that reaches to his knees. The bottom edges are wet from splashing around in the sea. I can see he is standing barefoot on the pebbly ground. A length of twisted cord is tied around his waist, also of unbleached fibers. I am a little further out to sea than he is, but I know he stands somewhat north of me. I can’t see his face clearly. Can’t see the front of his tunic at all. He wears no jewelry, but I can see marks where he had worn an armlet recently. His ears are not pierced. He is facing North-North-East. I don’t know how I know this, but the fact buries itself deep within me.

I can see the scroll he is holding. He is reading from it in a great booming and commanding voice, in a dialect I have never heard before. I have no idea what he is charging about. The scroll is wound around two rods, the height of which is about a man’s forearm. There is are great length of scroll wound about both rods, more on the right than the left. I know he is reading from right to left, and so he is two thirds into the scroll.

I wanted to see more of his front, and more of the scroll he held. The little cloud I am sitting on hears my desire and slowly moves closer. It rises somewhat, lifting my feet from the ocean. I shift position on the cloud, so that I’m laying on my stomach as the cloud now positions itself so I can see over the man’s right shoulder.

The slow deliberate movements of the cloud led me to suspect the man would be able to see me if he heard me. I was not to interrupt him, only observe him. He is greatly engrossed in reading from the scroll, he gives no indication of awareness of me. An arm’s length from him now, more facts silently reveal themselves to me.

He is in his thirties. Of decent health. His dark brown hair is long and somewhat curly, down to his waist, but it is pulled forward in two great falls that drape over his chest. He is an Israelite. When that fact first revealed itself, I mentally tossed aside “Israelite” and substituted “Jew”. I was quickly corrected. He is an Israelite, not a Jew.

I look over the Israelite’s shoulder at the scroll. Another fact buried itself within me. He wasn’t reading Hebrew. The marks on the scroll twisted and squirmed as I examined them, yet the man kept reciting them. It wasn’t for me to know what was written on the page, just as it wasn’t for me to know what he was saying.

The cloud quivered underneath me. I knew my time in this world was about to expire. As the cloud began to retreat from him, one last piece of information revealed itself to me. The name of the scroll he was reading.

“The Book of Ur”.

The puffy white cloud changed to a stormy rolling dark grey. I realized it had become a portal of sorts. I fell into the cloud and woke up with a start in my car. The wind was angrily pushing at the car, as if to wake me up from my deep slumber. Just as I got my bearings, I looked in the rear-view mirror. My daughter’s bus was pulling up to the stop.

Make of it, what you will.