If I could be anywhere...

I have been thinking often of my holodeck dream world... the one with the peaks that look like they're made of glass, the turquoise river far below me, and the cold wind. I've been wishing to visit it. I miss it, especially when I cannot fall asleep (which is often). Sadly, it is not a place I can visit whenever I wish. I can hardly form the memory of it in my mind most of the time. The strange thing about wanting to go there when I'm trying to fall asleep is that it's hardly a retreat or a place to find peace. If I do manage to immerse myself in the memory of that place and recall the feelings it prompts in me, I find myself more awake than before. If I wanted to relax, I might transport myself back here:

I am aware that my pictures may not show up by the time anyone reads this. If you can't see them, they are shots I took in a tiny English village in the countryside.... still water; old stone walls; weeping willows and daffodils. Or I could go back to Venice. There's a busy-ness about it, but the warm, clear air and water - the absence of cars, buses or motorcycles - is calming. There are days when I could kill to be back there. 

But tonight, that's not what I want.  The dream world I crave is nothing like the English Cotswolds or sunny Venice.  My mountains are not friendly, probably not even safe. They're like something out of C.S. Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet, with its breathtaking, yet threatening, landscapes. The closest real-life approximation I can come up with is a cathedral. I took a hundred pictures inside the Canterbury and Salisbury cathedrals, but I'm not going to show you any. The memory is almost spoiled by looking at them. For one thing, my camera had issues with the dim, irregular lighting and the immensely tall ceilings. Even if I'd had total mastery of my camera that day, however, I think pictures would still be disappointing.  Why reduce something so large and majestic to a mere 5x7 rectangle? I tried anyway, of course, but nothing compares to being there. Standing in Canterbury Cathedral before the morning crowds had arrived, I felt little tremors of the awe I feel in my holodeck dreams. These tremors came and went and were not overwhelmingly strong, but the power was there. It was cold, still, and so beautiful that breathing became uncomfortable. There is no rest to be had in a place like that, but that's where I would choose to be right now, if I could.  I want to be awestruck and unsettled. 

When I compare the quiet, peaceful countryside with the inside of Canterbury cathedral, I think of two sides of the God I serve... Sometimes it's loving Shepherd I need, with his green pastures and still water. (Every time I read Psalm 23 now, I picture a little place in the Cotswolds called Lower Slaughter... delightful place with an unfortunate name. I doubt the Good Shepherd would lead his lambs there.) Other times, I'd rather tremble before the almighty God of the universe. I don't know that the dream means anything. It's only recently that I've started analyzing this place I cannot get back to. I'm wide awake now after thinking about it, but there are worse ways to pass the time.