It is the ghost hour. Outside it has been raining all night. Window tilted, I am sitting on my desk, listening to the rain drops, hitting summer green leaves, the warm asphalt of the road, the stone of my window bench. The air smells of chlorophyll. In front of me is an empty glass bowl and a half-filled bottle, which emits an intoxicating scent, when opened. I should be in bed, as I have slept little, but instead my mind is on fire. I had to compose this incense blend, inspired by a dream I once had…
In this dream I am flying on a magic carpet. It is a warm sunny day. Using the upwind, I can speed up my flight, enjoying the slopes and turns, as tender petals of cherry blossoms softly brush my face. Mesmerized, I am riding through a cloud of white and pink and I want to freeze this moment. For the break of a second it becomes eternity, only to be carried away and onward. I can steer the carpet momentarily, but I cannot influence, where the journey is heading. We go higher, over hills and I observe the landscape from a bird’s eye view. In front of me are unfolding endless fields of blue lavender bushes. Then I am taken to an abandoned landscape garden, filled with fragrant roses. Someone is here, but before I can find out what is happening, I am gone. Then I find myself in an urban surrounding, my feet on the ground. I recognize the place, it is close to where I lived and regularly walked up and down the road, on which is bordering a graveyard. Just seconds before, I had been chasing down that steep hill with my magic carpet. Now I am at this noisy street. Here I meet the dead. A satisfied expression, a pile of documents in hands, a smiling face, communicate all I need to know. And that is it.
Sometimes the dead are very busy people. Other times all that is left of their souls are the tender sakura blossoms… For me remains the memory of a most wondrous dream flight.
Wiebke Rost 