Wet Dreams, Cause the Dry Ones Seldom Come

Do you ever miss someone so much, and feel the need to escape reality because of it? At least for a while anyway. Sometimes mid day dream, its not even the person that makes you drift off, its the places they remind you of. For me, when I think of my mum who passes away, I think of what her presence, about what her personality reminds me of: the amazon jungles.

I picture images of jungles and wildlife and greenery. Just land and lands of green that remind me of her adventurous side.

So, right now, writing a postcard from my bedroom in Canada, the whether get warmers and I get lonelier, why not use the thought of a loved one to send me on a destination of a lifetime.

I imagine a vacation in Peru's Amazon. Where the sound of my mother's voice ignites the sounds of life and winds that whistles among tall trees. I can just imagine writing a post card from here and my mother with a cup of ginger tea, reading my latter touching her hands against the plants, grazing the leaves.

I think postcards are best when the tone is light but the content is detailed and direct. I'd probably say something like, "You wanted a full detailed report from me. But you know how I get when I'm put on the spot. But I'm trying because I need to connect and feel your spirit so bad today."

And here comes the best part, I then get to gloat about my experience. With a pen or phone in my hand, I am excited to share my love for the journey I'm on.

I would continue the letter like: "Okay. So, there are green hills, green valleys of course, and green insects.

Okay...wait. I'll try again.

There's Pistachio colored wildlife here. This smooth creamy light green with a hint of yellow. The hills in Peru are enormous. The size is unreal. Imagine hill tops as big as the sky and they are turning neon exactly when the auburn sun bats her eyes at dawn.

It makes me emotional, that anything could be so beautiful and no human had a hand in creating it.

If I get enough sleep the night before I will usually stay up after the sunrise and meditate in the morning, among the chirping of birds. When the water starts to flows continuously from the cliffs, high up I know its time to start the day.

You know, the falls here also doubles as our shower? But it really isn't anything in comparison to the size of Niagara Falls, so don't freak out, okay?

You're receiving your letters from the hands of someone who lives in the jungle. Will and I stay in a shack, that could be mistaken for a villa, if you're from here. But I honestly feel that I have everything I need.

Will is still sleeping though-on the floor, on a mattress we brought in town. And it is surprisingly plush-with a capital P! I sleep like a newborn baby.

I think once I'm done, I'll probably wake him up. Feed him a cup of tea and biscuits while I nonchalantly force him to come with me for a hike. Just like you used to do when us kids we're younger.

He's been so reluctant to go out side because of the rain. He says, its more likely to be dangerous. But we're in Peru and I feel restless, so tough.

Breathing in the air from outside ain't what it used to be. Its been raining for three days straight and Mom,the air inside here smells, like sweat and bark.

Oh! Remember when I was making a fuss about boots I needed to bring to Peru? Well, the docs I brought don't leak...told ya! I don't mind getting my docs stuck in mud, you know I am down for an adventure no matter the circumstance."

Most likely it would be about mid post card that I would stop talking about myself and engage more in a conversation. I'd ask about my new baby nephew, "By the way- how is the baby? I miss his chubby cheeks! Tell him Aunty can't wait to kiss him."

And then with so much excitement, like vomit I would just keep spilling the tea about life in the Amazon.

"Last night, I took a shower outside as I thought about the baby. I was under the falling water, and food was cooking on the fire stove in the pit near by...and yes, a fire stove. Its very "neat." Anyway, music was playing from inside the shack. I'm standing, just washing the water over my face repeatedly and faintly, I hear a voice in my head say, '212 days. '

I realized it had been two hundred and twelve days since I was home. I got so lost in the thought and the time that when I remembered my eyes were closed; I reopened them and I couldn't even see a thing! At least 5 inches in front of me was smoke. Mom, I had to run out the falls naked and put on the smoke! it traveled so thick, all the way from the pit to the water. "

Writing a letter to someone you love deeply, can be more than a letter. It can turn into a confession, or diary. So it is at this point, I'd get insecure or just melancholic and I would say by goodbyes.

"Long story short-I miss you and home. But I know that too shall pass. Despite the criticism of leaving, especially during the pandemic, moving has been the best decision of my life! I can breath from the inside out, I'm anxious free, I'm mentally free here.

I'd like you to come visit. Just for the week, I know you will fall in love...like I have."

I'd stop writing. Remember that the post card I am writing will never be delivered, at least not physically. I would sit back, stare into space and yearn for an opportunity to travel or move or explore, to fulfill my desire that if I wanted to write a letter, even if from the heart I could and somehow, my mother could experience my view exactly how I experience it.