"awakening into the florida dream" chapt. 2:

8/7/2019 "Awakening Into the Florida Dream" Chapt. 2:

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"Awakening Into the Florida Dream" Chapter 2:Dreams are for Exploring.

Fromwww.growingintothemystery.net Paul Hampton Crockett

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I containmultitudes.

Walt Whitman

Above and below from Wreckers of the Florida Keys, Harpers Magazine, 1911

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Preliminary note: the first chapter of this rambling exploration can be found in this weblog, at: http://growingintothemystery.net/2009/09/17/awakening-prelude-to-a-dream-i/

DREAMS held close in the heart, I believe, are always worth exploring. Thecloser and more widely held, the greater the import and essential the inquiry.It might be said of Humanity: we dream, therefore we are.

"Til Human Voices Wake Us, and We Drown." Above and below, remains.

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James Deering's vision of a winter residence taking shape: the Villa Vizcaya. The guidedtours now given at the great place speak of Deerings global search for a site with an ideal

winter climate, and other unspecified prerequisites, leading him to the unlikely choice of

the far-off and little known outpost of Miami. Below, the completed house 3 years old,1919.

That picture may be accurate, in part, but is at best also incomplete. The mans familyties to the area were very strong. His older half-brother Charles, with whom he seemed

to share a deep and abiding fraternal relationship, chose also to build in the truewilderness of the area, but further away. His home, now also a Miami-Dade County

museum, sits many miles south in the Old Cutler/ Palmetto Bay area. Also, their fatherWilliam had actually moved to Cocoanut Grove, and there took his last breath on a

beautiful winter day in December, 1913.

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Below, the patriarch enjoying a visit from Charles and his family (young Marion in hermothers lap) at his home in the Grove.

The dreams we collectively share are of utmost power and dynamic beyondmeasure. In contemplative moments we might recognize the dreamscarried within our hearts, and perhaps imagine such images as ascrapbook, but in greater truth it is the dreams that carryus along, oncurrents of a depth and force not given us to understand.

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Veranda, Royal Palm Hotel, 1910s.

Even the most vivid tales captured in the flipping pages of a book, orpassed along by voice beside flickering campfire, have a beginning and end,are contained within the boundaries of either page or accepted form, andstand fixed in time in relationship to whenever might be the now.

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Where there were mangroves, now there is only mud.Note the worker in thelower right corner. Definitely a lousy job.

A drivable roadway in 1916 Miami was big news. The road surface seen here is notasphalt pavement, but the crushed limestone that hardened so beautifully when laid out

upon a roadway. It was also blindingly white, carrying the suns full glare into thesquinting eyes of those driving or walking upon it.

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TO venture with any real depth into the Florida dream, the solerequirement is an open mind. Not as easy as it sounds; in our branded

culture of commodity, where absolute conformity is pursued as a relentlessideal, its no wonder that people presume to know today, exactly wherethey are to be, tomorrow. And, theres an app for that.

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The singer Sade:It is a possibility, the more we know the less we see

The Late Great Tropicaire Drive-In Theater

Its a shabby and unfortunate business indeed when travelers keepthemselves mentally occupied solely by proving to themselves (or worse,imposing upon others) whatever notions or beliefs they might havebrought with them in the first place.

In such cases, when agenda replaces awareness, it is not difficult to misscompletely how very wide and open is the horizon surrounding us on allsides, and the skies above!

Everglades, 1880s

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Scientific Map of Miami, 1933

THE Dream itself is not to be found on any map. It requires noplace, for itis woven of many. Dreams are more like stars than planets, and closer togalaxies than stars, because they are vast, and are larger than all of it, yetsomehow at the same time themselves interwoven into a grand tapestry.

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EVEN a young child can point out the distinctive outlines of the State on amap (usually the one embellished with the alligators, oranges, and/orbikini-clad beach babes under the umbrellas), and even touch the map withher little fingers, but will only shrug when asked about the location of theDream.

"Brickell Avenue, leading past the Deering Estate."

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James Deering in Residence, Vizcaya.

Florida has always seemed, and in fact been,a sort ofperpetual frontier.Alast frontier, always.

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All too often, Man faces his fears by killing.Above, family of black bear, below,Florida panther. For the sake of the innocent, I pray that we be given mercy, and

not justice.

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Even still, the Everglades remains the epicenter of mysterious, frightening, andawe-inspiring things.

Crocodile.

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Alligators John Singer Sargent

WITH this Dream, the real challenge is in trying to figure out what in thedevilis going on.Or for that matter, even beginning to make heads or tailsout ofany of it!

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Looking for dry land to light the camp-fire.Climbing a tree in the flat, flat Everglades.

A visitor to our backyard. The various animals seem to love it here. We are happy to havethem.

An intrepid little turtle braves the coral reef.

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Why be a schmuck in Peoria or Oshkosh?

Everybody loved Flipper

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A Classic Marx Brothers film playing upon the easy target of Floridas great landboom of the 1920s. That crazed hour (in which my grandfather played a part, as

street-selling binder boy), stands as singular among the popular delusions ofcrowds in recent history.

A great photo, capturing in a casual moment of the truly extraordinary booms ofrecent history. The people pictured here are lounging about at the beach, tracking

the meteoric rise of the stock market. And indeed, as long as one is to grow

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obscenely rich without effort or industry (at least on paper, and for a while) thenwhy shouldn't he or she enjoy the beach in the meantime?

I think it quite possible that the Almighty herself might have stumbled across thisphotograph, rolled her divine eyes, and felt it as good a time as any to "pull the

plug."The Great Depression was on its way.

OF course, its worth noting that aDream is specifically not aPuzzle. Ormight it be exactly that, sometimes?

However one frames the question, it remains so that of all the treasuresthat we might from time-to-time set out to hunt, meaning can remain themost elusive.

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A picture is worth a thousand words, easily, and sometimes more than anynumber. Maybe 100 images carefully collected and joined together as partof one chronicle tell a thousand stories.

If I asked "What is the Florida dream, to you?," and you stopped to thinkabout it, you would probably see:pictures.

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"Winter Visitors to Cocoanut Grove, 1886-87"

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Camping in Miami Beach, 1924.

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A decorative flourish that sat in the window of the garage workshop at the homeof my Crockett grandparents in the Roads section of Miami.

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Biscayne Holiday Eugene Savage

THAT is also the way that we dream.

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The Mystery and Melancholy of a Street___Giorgio de Chirico

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Vizcaya, North Gate to the Woods Under Construction.

Paul Chalfin, perhaps (second only to Deering himself) the unifying creative geniusbehind the Vizcaya project. Obviously more carefree than Deering; he wasn't the one

paying!

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Above and below: the fabulous, long-gone boathouse at Vizcaya. (Note Deerings yachtnesting comfortably alongside. I suspect the place was utterly obliterated by the monsterstorm of 1926. Deering himself had died the year before, God rest his soul. No one else

ever dared think, imagine, or spendon such a heroic scale.

All we are left with of the boathouse is the idea of it. Remembrances of dimremembrances. Yet for that, I am grateful. The boathouse may be the building pictured

in the foreground, below.

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Site of present-day downtown Miami

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And, how we remember. (Although smelland music seem also to share thatquality of putting us right on that train back to memory, leaving logic orrational thought distantly behind at the station, scratching its head.)

It is a profound question that knows no bottom, the power of the image.They soothe and delight us, they horrify and deeply disturb us, they inspire

or manipulate us.

Sometimes images have a power all their own, and sometimes the messageis in the juxtaposition. Here is one of the numerous photographs fromFloridas history evidencing mans wanton treatment of the environment,and especially the other animals. I count this image within that categoryonly because the Whip Ray has never been considered edible in the

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Western Hemisphere. So it has been killed for sport, for cheap thrills, or forno reason at all.

Is it not a beautiful creature?

Almost as soon as I saw it, another image flashed into my mind. Maybethat is why images are so powerful a thing. Like music (for example,cheesy but catchy advertising jingles), they require no formal invitationto take up residence in your head. Once something has been seen, it cannotbe unseen, even if (perhaps especially if) you really wish that it could.

Without further commentary, here is the other image:

IT occurs to me that the great philosopher Plato dismissed the image(paintings, in his days), as a mere shadow of a shadow. Yet his quest was

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An Edwardian-era case display of preserved passenger pigeons. Two hundred years agothe worlds most abundant bird, numbering in the billions. The last known wild pigeon

was shot in 1900. Martha, the heartbroken last of her species, died at the Cincinnati Zoo

on September 1, 1914.

The photograph may remain, but the world it documents will itself havebeen diminished. The Mama and baby bears scampering along on the ice,the bears in the picture, and any descendants that might have followedthem, will no longer leave paw prints upon the ice. The subtext of theimage will be transformed from excitement and majesty to sorrow.

Even the little guy in the box of animal crackers would remind us. He neverseemed lonely before despite his lack of a mate, but then again, we knew

that they were out there.

Stereopticon,Polar Bear Family with Seal, Chicago Museum of Natural History

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And our childrens children will have to explain to theirs, No, thats notmake-believe. There reallywere bears that were all white, once. The snowand the ice were their home. They werefierce on land, but you shouldveseen how they could dive and swim.Yes, theywerebeautiful. They really were.

WITH images, as with our attention and perception, the power is all in theediting. When used as a medium for genuine communication, the power ofthe image is without parallel. Words are clunky in comparison, able tocarry only a fraction of the freight of meaning as might an image, and inthe process tending to invite further misunderstanding and greaterdivisiveness.

There is a quality of the Human heart that will continue turn intuitively toan image, with a sense of Hope, when all words have become forever frozenin a hard, thick layer of mistrust. Words are hardand sharp, and can beseen coming a mile away. In contrast, people only rarely approach animage anticipating any kind of attack. Thus the raw power of propaganda.

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The most direct means of approach to the deeper tale always unfolding intheFlorida Dream, in all of its breathtaking audacity and brazenshamelessness, it seems to me

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is in the bounty of images it has always seemed to generate.

It must surely rank among the most documentedof Great Dreams. Thatsnot the problem; this is not thatkind of puzzle.

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Florida Dreams of Itself

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Alligator Released to custody of town taxidermist. (Note in the background what must beone of Floridas shell stores.)

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YET something calls out out to us from this distant realm. Though it be farbeyond our ken, it promises something that will complete us.

Raising in my mind this question, intriguing, huge, and much more thansimply poetic:

What is the relationship between dream and prayer?

Those fortunate enough to have somehow found their way there and totaste of it, have often returned home bearing some knowledge thatmatters.They come back enriched by a new understanding, that might yielda single golden fruit:Hope.

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Along the Way___P. Crockett

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It is the only harvest of its kind, and quite miraculous: simply dreaming ofit, awaiting with whatever patience one might muster the hour of itsglorious arrival, brings it forth. One small seed, held in the palm of your

hand, is as golden and valuable as the entire crop of any great grove.

(And may there come a day, and soon, when the people remember thatwhen one of us is lifted, it does notpull any of us down, or hurt the rest ofus. But when any of us fall, we are all diminished.

We tend to get that one backwards. And many more of us are falling, thanrising.)

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Maybe we can try compassion. We seem so ready topunish.

I am quite certain that the best place to practice compassion, ounce forounce, is also its (far and away) most difficult, elusive and somehow distanttarget: ourselves.

The face looking back at yours, curiously, in the mirror.

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SOME journeys are not for measuring in miles. As apparently suits itspurposes, the path on which this journey has led me remains completelyunbound by time, distance, or even reason. The way has been anything butlinear, in fact, with neither map nor compass of any real use, and onlyinstinct and intuition to guide. In this realm, I am not experienced.

Or maybe I am. I once wrote in my journal, in which I made note of mydreams, By noon, the dream is forgotten.

Astone lion, faithful and steadfast in purpose, stands vigilant guard over a grand familyhome long since erased, and its sprawling grounds. Never mock him, for he is proud,and no fool. Can you find compassion in your heart for one who knows to do only that

for which he was created, though that dream has sadly faded before he?

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Crop, 1900s

IT is undeniably so that any exploration of a land that contains oranges andalligators, saw grass and key lime pie, lurid flamingos and chocolate-covered coconut patties that outlast Human lives, by its very nature, cannotomit whimsy. I mean, come on, consider the sunsets!

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Carmen Miranda (The Morning After)___P. Crockett

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Deco DreamsMarty Kreloff__http://martinkreloff.com//

Poster art for the annual art deco event hosted by the Miami Design PreservationLeague, bringing to mind an era that now seems long, long ago and far, far away. Marty

is a friend of mine. Although his notable art career has led him to L.A. for the pastseveral years now, he will always carry Florida with him, in his heart and on his palette.

Cannot help it.

Bathers

He has absolutely no idea of it, but Marty played an important role in my ownartistic journey. Back in 1990,I brought to this real, established professional

artist, a bit nervously, only the fourth or fifth painting Id ever done for critique:

Scott and Daviea____P Crockett

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He said,"Keep it up." At that time and in that place, he made a positive difference in mylife. Thank you, Marty.

Miami leaves even the most beloved dreams of yesterday behind. It is only a matter oftime before all evidence has been destroyed.

Henry Flaglers Royal Palm Hotel

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Only a wall remains. Not a high wall, nor one promising of security, yet for all of that asstubborn and dignified as the day it was gloriously new.

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Lost Lake Tourist Attraction, Miami, itself now lost. Check outhttp://www.lostparks.com/

Tropical Wonderland

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Biscayne Night_____P. Crockett

I HAVE undertaken research of a scope and depth of intensity that can onlybespeak true passion (You know how its so easy to learn everything youcan about the things you reallylove?), as if something of the utmostimportance depended upon it.

I have labored with the intensity of an archivist handed the finest and mostvery precious volumes of Knowledge, inscribed in disappearing ink.

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The rarest of the rare: the breed of visionary who can not only see the whimsical eleganceof the Venetian Pool where others see only a sharp-edged, gaping rock pit, but can then

proceed to bring his vision into being, for all to see and enjoy and experience. We all owehim. George Edgar Merrick, Founder of Coral Gables.

Miami as Venetian Dream (Above) & (Below) Advertisement in Miami Senior HighSchool Year Book, 1922

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Advertisement for the City Beautiful, 1926. Few have either packaged or sold dreamsbetter than did Merrick and his cast. One truth that can be spoken of the omnipresentand elusive Florida Dream: it is not accidental.

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Neverwithout a good fight!

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Road to Cocoanut Grove. Below, interestingly,Drive to Cocoanut Grove.

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Vizcaya, aerial view.

Spanish Moss____John Singer Sargent

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Much to my surprise: more like watching petals fall softly upon the grass,

presumably from some flower above, than taking to the hot forge againwith hammer and anvil, determined to make it fit.

Morningside by the Bay___ P. Crockett

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Tamiami Trail newly laid down. Loop Road.

Garden Oasis_____P. Crockett

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Benjamin Disraeli famously observed that there are three kinds of lies: lies, damnedlies, and statistics. This is a damned lie, and bizarre, to boot. The event reported neverhappened, and neither was anything like it at all likely. Florida Panthers are among themost diminutive of the big cats, and are by temperament shy and reclusive. Possibly a

Victorian-era morality tale, teaching that perhaps it is better to stick with the beast thatyou knowand require no pursuit for a kiss, than to take your chances in the greaterjungle out there of the World. Only one possible interpretation, of many. Whatever the

intended lesson, however, it had absolutely no proper business involving the innocentpanther.

Any such fine points as to subtext were lost completely on Floridas settlers, wholearned to shoot to kill, on sight.

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Panther cubs need love, too.

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First fox caught in South Florida. I wonder if any remain.

Gathering Turtle Eggs, Florida

The ancient, magnificent sea turtles never really had a chance, being both slow andcumbersome on land, and delicious.

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Popular Mechanics Magazine, 1928 .

IT really cannot all be put into words. Count me a fool for even trying. Andyet, none have ever heard even a minor strain of this Great Song withoutbreaking down in tears, for the sheer joy of it.

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The Artists Home at Night___P. Crockett

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Welcome to the Peacock Inn____P. Crockett

The story of this painting has been told on this web log, athttp://growingintothemystery.net/2008/12/06/capturing-history-before-its-gone-2/

Christmas 1887

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Love Never Dies, II____P. Crockett

AND so, as I embark upon what I have come to recognize at last as a

journey of the Heart, I move forward with a singular hope and intention.

As I move freely in and out of the Magical, and dive beneath that river wellknown to us to swim deep and free within the currents more ancient andvast running always just beneath,

from Wreckers of the Florida Keys, Harpers Magazine, 1911

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as I venture further into a realm of pure possibility unbound by time,distance, or even reason,

I cast my strongest hope in somehow touching that chord within yourHeart that knows and understands, even if we both might have in partforgotten.

Afternoon Tea, Peacock Inn 1887

WHO knows when a tiny spark of recognition might take flight and burstinto a living golden flame that warms andlights at last an inner hearth longgrown a little cold, and dark?

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There is something great and good that we share, though you might wellknow it by any other name. It is the heartof yourHome and theHome ofyourHeart, and you can seek out its exact center by taking the time to stopfor a moment, and to feel where your love is.

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Sailboats, Cocoanut Grove, 1880s

You see, the truly wondrous thing about this Great Dream in which I findmyself awakening is, that I am not alone in it, and neither is it my Dream

alone. And neither is it foreign to you, not in the least.

YET neither is our journey together any indulgence in pure whimsy, orentirely fanciful. We are here at the same time in our respective places, andyou are now reading these words, for a reason.

And we need not know exactly what it is, perhaps are not meant to, or itwill not serve us. But is it not in our nature to inquire?

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Night Garden____P. Crockett

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Imagine. Your train will either pull into the station waiting, or disappear instantly andforever.

It remains fully mysterious, and yet this I know. It is not only welcoming ofall, itpartakes of all, as the sun and silver moon shine their light upon allequally, without regard to qualification or virtue.

It might be seen as something larger than any of us but leaving out not oneof us. We are all of us part of it, and are as a matter of common courseblessed and enriched by the works and vision of those we will never know,or might choose to have nothing to do with, if we did.

It is as an ocean, that refuses no rivers.

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NONE may lay claim to it with any flag, though mighty kingdoms havecertainly tried, and neither can its geography be reduced to points upon aone-dimensional map. We all are home together there, perhaps held tooclose to see within its warm embrace.

The heart even now beating within your breast, together with all of yourhopes, fears, and dreams large and small, is an indispensable part of it. Itsvery heart beats along with yours, and mine.

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And words fade away at last to Light! having served their purpose andfulfilled their commission.

"awakening into the florida dream" chapt. 2:

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