JOHN MCINTOSH
Sparrows cautiously approach a man’s table as streaks of brilliant sunlight pierce through the canopy of trees above. Crumbs lay waiting and there are chirping babies begging to be fed. Not far away a man sits on a large park rock shouting loudly at anyone nearby who might listen. No one raises their head to encourage him. A homeless man approaches. He is old and bent, the few rags he wears smelling of many nights sleeping outside on the humid inner city streets. A few Sunday walkers pass by struggling to feel somehow more alive in their leisure. Their eyes tell a different story.
A few courageous sparrows land beside the crumbs and begin feasting. Others watching join now that a few have chosen to brave the possible danger. Most of humanity lives this way … fear a constant companion in the field of dreams. Suddenly, the darkly placid scene is invaded by street buskers playing loud music on a nearby sidewalk. Joining the cacophony are roaring motorcycles cruising the streets, while the homeless man shouts obscenities at the buskers.
Its a spike on the screen of illusions casually accepted as somehow ‘normal’ while the dream unfolds. The field of dreams must become ‘intolerable’ before the surrendered turn within draws the dreamer Home.
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