“We need to learn to set our course by the stars, not by the lights of every passing ship.” Omar Nelson Bradley

© 2002 TGregory and Laloba Press

Nightblooming Cereus

It is night on this desert, the sands no longer crisp white as in the sun, but hued in shadow and light from the moon. The stars are bright and endless, the moon a cresent shining among them.

Night bloomers fill the air with a delicious scent and a cool wind caresses my face.

I want to walk, no glide, over the whole expanse. I can see the horizon from where I stand and I want to know every inch, every detail before the sun changes everything.

There is an emmense cube that beckons, it is crystalline and glitters in what moonlight there is. It is made of my fantasy and it holds the answers I desire. It sits on edge, on its corner, and at first glance appears to be of a diamond shape, its iridescence incredibly beautiful against the night sky. And then as I approach it, I discover its shape, the cube, each side more beautiful than the last, an endless delight of beauty and fantasy.

I must climb a ladder to enter the cube. It is red and simple. Rounded pieces of wood with steps to climb. No handholds, no guard rail. It is high, but not frighteningly so. Thirty rungs.

There is a white, winged horse approaching. He walks slowly, so as not to frighten me. He is willing to take me through the night sky and back. He knows me and my mind, and my will. He is one with me. No saddle or brIdle, I know his mind, I don’t need physical restraints.

As I mount the horse we see a storm in the distance. We’ve smelled the rain on the wind moving southward, and look in that direction instinctively. Thunder far away like the drumbeat of the Gods, lightening slashing the sky. A fireworks display for the two of us.

We breathe deeply, the scent of the rain, for it doesn’t come often in the desert. And notice that the lightening is refracted by the cube. The crystals it is made of sparkle and beckon as the lightening jumps from ground to sky.

The ladder appears now as a respite, should we need it, an avenue to the interior of the cube. Not just a novelty now, perhaps we’ll want to escape the storm.

The night-bloomers stir, as if in anticipation of a long awaited drink. Their white blossoms magnified against the dark sky and almost electric in the flashes of light. They are everywhere, hundereds of elegant, tall-stemmed blooms with their exotic fragrance. I want to wear them in my hair, braid them in the horses mane. I want to bathe in a pool of rainwater with the night-bloomers floating there.