The Dream

Note:  Our ancestors communicate with us through dreams.  Important are dreams so vivid that you don’t easily forget them.  Decoding the message in the dream is another matter though.  It helps that you reconcile the dream with the exigencies of the moment.

Last night (December 4) my dream was this:  I found myself in my home village of Guinarona, in the house of cousin-in-law Biday.  I found sacks of copras in the house’s veranda, and I peeked inside to find Biday lying on the floor, as if stricken ill.  I called out her name and she stirred.  I remarked that she now had lots of money from the copras.  I then proceeded to roam the streets.  Wow, so many houses already!

Then a woman with a veil met me.  It turned out to be Mother.  She was all smiles and obviously pleased to see me.  I said, “Show me your house, I want to see where you live.”  She brought me to an all-wood structure; everything was colored shellacked brown.  She was living with Dondon’s sister (I recognized her because she was her assistant in Manila, when I left them my rented apartment, as I sojourned  in Australia in 1992.  Both Mother and her are deceased, by the way.)  Mother’s house was beside the old Guinarona River, on the corner of Aragon and Sudario streets.

Out of curiosity, I espied the river, and it was deep and foreboding.  Some force was pushing me into the river; good thing I was able to hold onto the trunk of a small tree.  I struggled to swing back to the river bank and to Mother’s house.  Then inside Mother’s house, I saw Mother emptying containers of spaghetti into a chute, which obviously led to the river.  Somehow, nobody served me the pasta dish.

Then off I went to Lobe-lobe, to the site of the Guinarona National High School.  I did not see the school, only the ruins of Licerio Martinada’s house, and I saw shards of blue and white china strewn all over.  Then someone approached me, extending his hand.  He was with two youths.  He said he was the parish priest.  I accepted his offer of handshake.

I then navigated the length of Benitez St.  Wow, I saw modern farmhouses.  I also saw forking

Benitez Street in Guinarona as it looks now

streets, one leading to Cadahuhan (that’s how the people told me).  I chose the middle street; it inclined at first, then it leveled off.  Along both sides of the street were modern farmhouses.  Farther up the street was a crossroad, one sleek road crossing Benitez street.  Wow, Guinarona is now in the 21st Century.  Somehow the roads were not asphalted, but sandy.  I tried to trace the limits of Benitez street, but it just went endlessly, perhaps to the mountains beyond.

End of dream.


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