The Last Soul Dreamer

**The cliff walls fell at dizzying speeds as I plummeted towards the canyon floor but rose again. I was flying, I thought I heard a hawk’s scream echoing off the walls before rising again, I felt the mist of water on my body from the waterfall flew through its rainbow. I was dreaming; I love dreaming now but that wasn't always true. I used to hate it.

When I was a kid I had nightmares, which made bedtime an ordeal for everyone involved but I learned that I was the dream’s author. I was in control! My dad taught me this to keep me from running screaming into his room. Many a time I’d run in and clamber into the center of the bed all boney knees and elbows. He wrote them down for me and together we’d rewrite the night mares into something good, somehow I learned to recognize I was dreaming and not wake up. No one believed me when I told them that, so I stopped, it was my secret. Once I learned that trick it was easy to reshape the dream the way I wanted.

So here I was soaring over an unknown canyon the warmth of the sun on my back. I didn’t know if I was a bird or a human, just that I was flying! I let out a whoop of pure joy and headed for the far side of the canyon. I flew almost straight up the cliff face. **


In a well known but seldom visited corner of the earth an old woman dipped into a series of cedar bowls on a table to the side of her adding a bit of this and that to the fire burning in a small open pit in front of her. In the background a CD player trickled classical music while a soft rain fell outside.
Her long skirt swished with her rhythmic movement as she chose her additions carefully. Each ingredient added to the fire shaped the path a soul would take, like landmarks they pointed the way. The journey had to be meticulously planned out, or the soul would get lost along the way.

She was tired and her stomach growled, protesting her long hours in the ceremonial chamber. Everyday her braids grew heavier as did the robes she wore, but she was the only one who could do this work. That was the problem with only keeping oral records, sometimes they were lost forever when the voices who remembered were silenced in the forever sleep.

The sun was setting turning the clay walls to a burnt orange color and soon the blue night would force her to abandon her work. There was still so much to do; she drove herself on knowing her time was short. Her time of forever sleep was approaching, and there was no one left to continue her work.

Without someone to pick up where she left off, her soul would be left to wander without guidance, and no one would shape her forever dream. She would be trapped and so would any soul who joined her in her slumber, no more souls would come into being.

Everything would end. Not just for her people, but everything for everyone. Everyone that was, and that would ever be.

And so she worked on well into the evening, souls rose on her smoke sent out to where they were supposed to be according to her visions. One in particular caused her to smile, even though she was hungry, tired and covered in sweat from the heat of the ceremonial chamber.

Her watery eyes followed it up the column until it floated out into a wisp against the blackened sky and a breeze sent it out of sight. Her mind followed it in her imagination, winging along in the night carefree but full of purpose.

Why she took such an interest in that one, she didn’t know, but now that it was gone she had to keep going. More waited for her, and every night more came. She was never supposed to have had to shoulder this responsibility alone, there had been others, but steadily the numbers had dwindled.

And now she was alone.

One more and she would go home to eat the food that had been tempting her all day. Yes, just one more. True to her word she sent the next soul on its way then cleansed herself for the dousing of the fire. The souls rode the smoke; she had to put the fire out cleanly so that no one was lost.
Near the fire hand woven mats made from pine strips soaked in a barrel of water infused with lily petals and sage. She knelt next to it, her weight falling heavily on her knees making them ache. She closed her eyes as she leaned forward until her braids brushed the ground then her voice began rising and falling in song when she reached back to pull one mat out of the scented water.

Droplets fell on her clothing as she moved the mat over the fire; little hissing sounds joined her song as the water fell on a mature fire. Continuing to sing she lifted one after another of the wet wooden mats onto the fire smothering it without letting the smoke escape.

Her brow broke out in a fine sheen of sweat as she completed her work, and then bowed to the ground again. With the ritual completed she stopped her singing and struggled to get back up off the ground. With the fire doused she gathered her bowls from the table carefully putting them back into a cedar chest, in the morning she would relight the fire using their contents to begin her work yet again. Everything must be fresh, from the water to the fire and the ingredients.

Without a word she turned the radio off then trudged out into the rainy evening heading home for a little rest and dinner. On her way home, she passed the dried prayer trees, with their bits of tied cloth for leaves, everyday new “leaves” appeared.

The people suffered and appealed to her for an end, for her task was two-fold; both to bring souls into existence and to usher them on to their forever dream. Thankfully the people wove their own, creating the place they would move on to when they fell into the forever sleep.

As she walked up the path to her home she wondered what her final dream would be like, when her time came. She smiled imagining it would be filled with family and friends, people she’d missed in her service to the people.

From the time she could talk she’d recounted her vivid dreams to her family, telling them of the fantastic places she’s visited. Until one day when she was only four, she was brought before the village Elder. She was told to tell him what she’d seen, and like a good girl she had with all the enthusiasm of a young child with a willing audience.

When it was over a hushed silence fell over the gathered family. Even at her age she’d known something big had just happened, looking up at him she waited to see if she’d done something wrong.

“She is a soul dreamer.” The Elder announced with a sparkle of pride in his eyes. “When she is older she will join the others in training.”

Only two years later she would have to leave her family behind to begin training and live among the Elder Dreamers. At first she merely accompanied the older trainees carrying materials after they performed the harvest ceremonies. But as she grew older her trips outside were traded for long hours of learning and memorizing complex ceremonies until one day she was able to begin harvesting her own materials.

By then the Dreamers were getting harder and harder to come by, and she didn’t have a youngling to follow in her footsteps. Things were hard for them, other clans were having the same troubles, and one by one her friends left to serve other camps. Only the Elders too old to travel stayed behind, until she performed the forever dream ceremonies for the last of them.

She’d made many trips to the village each time hoping to find another; instead the people turned their faces away from her as she approached. Each time she was welcomed by the bleak eyes of the chief, although he gathered groups hoping she would see something he didn’t but she didn’t. It had been thirty years and she hadn’t seen another Soul Dreamer; she’d shouldered all of the burdens of a thriving clan ever since.

She finally stopped going unless she was called, and now the only time she saw one of the people was when they dropped off supplies for her now that she was unable to hunt for herself.

Near the door she pulled her wet shawl off and hung it on a rack then moved it closer to the hearth and coaxed the embers back to life with some dried chips of kindling. When the fire was back to its full glory, she headed to her room to change into dry clothes while she waited for the pot of stew she’d prepared earlier that day to heat back up.

Soon the smell of meaty broth filled her small home, her cat mewed plaintively when she returned. Spooning him a little bit into his bowl she blew on it until it was cool enough then put it on the floor. While he dug into his dinner she made herself a bowl then shuffled over to her chair putting her bowl down on the simple wooden table before dropping heavily into it.

Once she was situated she placed a blanket over her legs and began eating, her gaze on the crackling fire in front of her. So tired.

Soon her eyes fluttered once while she finished her dinner, then closed as sleep claimed her, the now empty bowl hung in a lose grasp. Her chest rose and fell in deep even breaths and she became aware of someone.

They were watching; she felt their presence on the fringes of her mind. They rode on wings of a dragonfly over the canyon and up its wall. They saw the prayer trees, but didn’t understand their meaning.

They moved to the ceremonial chamber, flitting around the room noting the fire, the gathered herbs and the water barrel. Questions buzzed in their mind like bees in a hive, and then finally they came to her house.

She felt it when they came into room, looking at her and wondering who she was. Her face crinkled into a smile as she pretended she didn’t notice their presence. She had the rainbow shawl of an Elder Dreamer over her shoulders, and the training shawl folded in her lap, a slight breeze from the open door teased wisps of her hair.

She would wait for them and when the dreamer came over the rise of the canyon they would be greeted with a gap toothed smile. She had the rainbow shawl of an Elder Dreamer over her shoulders, and the training shawl folded in her lap, a slight breeze from the open door teased wisps of her hair. She’d been waiting for so long but they were finally here!