I dreamed I walked through an outdoors Arabian market where
I perused many tables. Merchants eagerly pushed to advertise unique artisan
items, while others promoted articles which gleamed in the sun, sparkling like
gold, but gold, they were not. After spending an entire day sifting through tables
of this congested market place, I was drawn to a merchant who largely sold
regional fruit. I became intrigued by one of the trays on his table which held
figs of various sorts. Many had traveled from afar to meet this trader as he
was well known globally for acquiring the juiciest of figs. It was apparent
many had arrived after a long journey, to his table earlier than I, as they had
picked through the finest of the figs. All that was left were two figs which
have blackened, entirely over ripened for my taste. Though this was obvious,
the merchant in his grey pants, beige shirt and grey head dress tried his very
best to persuade me to buy the remaining fruit as he claimed they were in
perfect condition for consumption. Repulsed by his attempt to feed me over sweetened
words, I rejected the two figs on the tray and announced my intent to depart
his stand. The merchant stopped insisting and fell silent, as he waited,
watching for something else to occur. I did not know what to make of his
silence. A thought popped into my mind, and soon I
found myself wondering, was he in disguise? Somehow his facial features were
familiar to me yet I could not place him, in particular, to any place or situation
from my past. He looked at me as if he knew me, yet an unspoken oath of silence
prohibited him from revealing the nature of our last encounter. He realized I was
scanning my memory, searching for the key of our last conversation as he
remained still on his withered wooden stool. His slight smile cued me, from
sheer instinct, to redirect my view back to the tray of over ripened figs. The second
I laid eyes on the tray I saw a new fig appear. I looked at it and without
question, reached for it. It emitted a tantalizing scent, a testament of its
freshness. This fig was ready to consume, picked freshly just moments ago, and
now, here it was. I let the merchant know through a particular hand gesture that
I would buy the fig which I securely held in my right hand. As he shook his
head up and down in acknowledgement, a pomegranate appeared on the tray, the
only pomegranate in the entire market.
Extending my left arm, my fingers quickly
found and wrapped around the bright fruit. I could feel, through its thick
spongy skin, the many seeds contained within. I could smell the sweet juice
which waited for me to devour it. Holding each fruit before me, I communicated
to the merchant my intent to purchase. While sustaining his smile, he finally
broke his oath of silence by expressing to me how long he waited for this
moment to arrive; waiting for the day that someone would reveal the truth about
the figs, which many bought and purchased blindly. Countless people traveled in
vanity to reach the merchant merely to say they arrived to partake of the
worlds’ most luscious figs. It was a journey made mostly for personal bragging
rights, out of the sheer reputation of the merchants’ name. The genuine process
of discerning quality fruit, unfortunately, fell by the waist side. After
paying, the merchant, along with his table and the entire outdoors market of
this desert town disappeared into smoke. Soon, I would see myself indoors in a
place far away from this one, continuing the saga of discovering the truth behind
the smoke of an illusion created for many to believe. Upon gazing at the seven of cups, one must
confront the task of dispelling the illusion of promises conjured by another;
promises disguised as gleaming, fresh and new, a mirage that leads nowhere. The
person in the seven of cups is a manipulator of illusion and care must be taken
to not become part of that illusion.
The Vision:
After much reflection,
I received the following vision: a small fox coyly hides behind a fallen tree
deep in the woods. The more I watched it, the more it tried to hide its face.
The fox continued this game of watching and hiding, yet, it did not run away.
Passing my hand over the mirror, an image of a small bird appeared. It would
not be too long afterwards before expedient arrival of news regarding the sly fox
would reach my ears. A week later I received part two of this journey,
discovering more behind the fox’s secret.
To be continued…
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