The sakura first appeared in a lucid half-dream--the liminal space where other worlds dwell. Walking a snowy path from winter to spring, the blossoms looked like snow covered branches from a distance. As I approached them, they fell, soft and powdery, over everything as far as I could see. Somewhere between winter and spring, between dreaming and waking, cherry blossoms cascaded like snow across a dreamscape.
I was still living in Santa Cruz then, in the apartment on the UC campus with my longtime partner. He and I had planned to take Japanese classes that summer then travel to Japan the following year. Little did we know then, those plans would never transpire. The dream has haunted me ever since.
The Sakura or Japanese cherry blossoms only bloom during January in the mountains of northern Thailand. So when my friend from Bangkok called and said she was passing through the area and did I want to adventure into the mountains to look for them, the obvious answer was yes. After spontaneously picking up an extra adventurer at our meeting spot and stopping for coffee in the Hmong village, it was already quite late in the day, but onward we went, further up the mountain and deeper into the jungle.
According to Google maps, the road we were on would eventually loop around and bring us back to the city, so we continued up the mountain. The air cooled, the roads narrowed (with only a few sketchy patches), and after several stops to explore and take in the wild beauty of the mountains and abundance of cherry blossoms, we found ourselves in Chang Kian village where the road abruptly ended.
We lingered for a bit at the highest point in the village that looked over tin rooftops and dusty, rust colored paths. I had finally found the sakura from my dream as well as no clear way to go beyond the point at which I stood.
When time came to leave, we tried several promising directions and asked some friendly villagers, but they all told us the same thing and pointed us back the way we came--no roads went beyond Chang Kian. We weren't prepared for night driving in the mountains so we fled pretty quickly. It was going to be a long, cold drive back.
We somehow managed to make it back to the Doi Pui viewpoint just as the sun was setting. Full of people and completely silent, taking in the landscape--the valley and villages and ridges. That's when I heard my friend whisper over my shoulder, "Our timing is impeccable. We should become tour guides." And with that, the sun vanished behind the mountains wiping out the horizon.
The road we took back wasn't the same as the one we took to get to Chang Kian. Facing the opposite direction with the sun low in the sky casting light at different angles across the jungle, it created an altogether different experience.
Afterthoughts: 1. Google maps lie and 2. Paths do end and new ones are forged. Life will force us to stop and re-route us when necessary. I'd like to think my sakura dream was a premonition of things to come back then--impasses and pauses and freefalls into space where no ground exists and all possibilities extend out from the center of where I am.
I am currently dreaming and forging new paths that may (or may not) lead me to roads and life experiences beyond Chiang Mai. Do you ever receive dreams as gateways to paths unseen in your waking life? Tell me your stories.
