Wake From the Dream
Invariably, life switches between the mundane and the unoriginal, swerving every now and then to annex something that no one understands or can wholly comprehend.
Like a new breath to an old hulk, the hulk of the mountain captured by its own beautiful gaze of azure swirling mist and lightning strikes, emanating a template of beauty that pierces deep within the heart to make a resonance of something purely intricate with golden tendrils wrapping with warmth. On such the set of sun that brings forth the rays of the sandy haze to be trapped into one’s mind before the onset of night can occur, forcing the mind to carry with it the warmth of the last lighted breeze of sand winding its way towards infinity as the beach and everything else in consumed in darkness. Verily it traverses the border between the realms, and arrives amongst the dreamy-eyed world of the mountain so pure and simple, with a cliff of the highest order of majesty resting upon its highest peak. Every wonder of the world is carried by the life of the cliff, which is responsible for the tainted azure light that looms over the entire mountain, illuminating the path so lightly for all adventurers who are drawn to this by the evanescent dream flowers that reside all along the great path to the peak.
Yet these flowers ostensibly hold less beauty to any who approach them, as they are apetalous flowers with the fragrance of the night-time breeze behind them, chilling and unforgiving as time, which sends any who venture near into a daze of unreality, which issues forth a haze among the terrain that wearies even the greatest of travelers. Ornate visions fill the mind and soul as walking loses its appeal, as legs no longer have use in such a land where spirits are free to roam, and the seeker must continue henceforth with a new disposition of total hopelessness for reality, as the mind bends and turns in unfashionable ways to attempt to instill a truer sense of beauty and peace to the soul, as no limitations of physical nature are abound in a world so true. Untarnished by time and elements of hazard, the world can only grow more beauteous and less focused, as the shimmering azure light at the crest of this world emanates ever further into the darkness beyond, acting as a beacon to any lost deep in the darkness to come and find sanctuary and a haven from the cold.
Misty and dreamy with swirling clouds and softly floating golden tendrils along the path must the adventurer go on, impervious to and augmented by the flowers scattered around, for if one does not venture too close, the fragrance exhaled by the flowers breathes a special empowering spirit to bolster the fortunate passerby with a sort of heavenly faith, and imbue into them a stronger capacity for hope and brilliance as the odyssey towards light continues. Imagining a goal, mystically setting down any trepidations and fears and watching them roll carelessly down the mountain as the azure glow forces them downward and out into the darkness that lies beyond, being lost in the sea with all delusions and false prophecies. Suns do not set as the wanderer moves ahead, dreary without revitalization spewing forth from a sun to warm the skin and glow the heart, as only the waves of azure light flow over the mountain periodically, as if it were that the mountain had its own pulse, with each wave of light giving warmth and solace to all who ascend, encouraging and uplifting those who might fall without support. So tantalizingly comfortable and warm each glimmering wave is, even as one sees it approaching, like a million tiny amethysts rolling down the slope, glimmering as they roll and sending shimmering rays of warmth to all who view them, warming and comforting so as to make the climber wish for rest and sleep, intoxicated by the comforting aura of the mountain, wanting nothing less than to drift into a forever sleep right there on the soft earth.
But to sleep in a land so great is to miss all of its beauty and grandeur, and sleeping before completion of the great ascent to the peak would be a tragedy far greater than the mind can comprehend, even when set free in the world of dreams. And so the flowers’ fragrance reaches the weary traveler once more, restoring and revitalizing the will to continue on, to reach the insurmountable task that they set before themselves, allowing the adventurer to experience with each movement a renewed sense of purpose and life, bringing a deeper significance to the human heart and spirit. In doing so, the climber realizes a deeper sense of want and desire to attain a more beautiful way, expanding their soul to become permeable to all aspects of the mountain, allowing them to become completely engulfed in the essence of the place, twisting and molding to the energies roaming through the air. Lest the adventurer forget their humanity, the mountain contains upon its surface the makings of all human beings, interwoven into the ground and stitched betwixt the roots of the dream flowers, always secretly absorbing into the wanderer to keep them whole, enveloping them in a sweet sense of home. Even as this occurs, the adventurer ascends further towards the peak, traveling on and on towards infinity, spending countless eternities getting ever closer, never ceasing to stretch out an arm to reach the so distantly near, only falling short by the smallest inconceivable amount, as time disappears for a moment. Yearning for the promise of the mountain, the adventurer forces onward, until distance and eternity meet and end, concluding one with the other and reforming to a more practical state of unbelivability, where upon the wanderer finally reaches their most sought out destination at the crest of the world.
Directly facing them now appears a sight too beautiful and beyond capacity of unreality that only a reality of time could allow for such an existence. Even wonder of the mind and strength of the spirit can not allow for this to be understandable, even in a world where each are expanded ten thousand fold and even upwards to infinity just to try and grasp an idea that such an amazing essence could be so readily emanating from the peak of such a perfectly azure mountain. Laying a most understand hold on the adventurer, the mountain allows the impossibility of stopping them from blinking for eternity, to never allow such a sight to be lost for an instant, for even the shortest amount of infinitely small time would break the heart a thousand times over if anyone were to be without sight of true life.
Dancing lights of immense intensity emanate from there, light so intense it would burn the sun out a thousand times over, and go beyond to light up the rest of eternity for as long as it existed. On and on it would illuminate and burn, consuming and healing every eternity and infinity ever imagined and once more for each one, not stopping as the light which can not be stopped should not be, as it turns worlds and imaginations for eons. Not knowing such a light could be possible, the wanderer stares at it, transfixed until time stops one more time, allowing the adventurer to stay in awe forever, but bringing them back right when the light becomes second to an entity far more awesome and striking. Not even time could control such a creature, so pure and unimaginable. Amazement augments every descript and nondescript description of something so lovely and pure, so magnificent and unruly, so lively and right, so gorgeous and linen, so ethereal and fascinating.
Sweet dreams are made exactly of this, and the sweetest dream to ever be had would never come close to this, as this world of hers is made of sweeter dreams than humans will ever dream, and this world exists because of her. And so the fabric of reality is unwoven around the wanderer, pieces tearing and melting away, folding and aging, returning to previous states of being, disappearing and dismantling, all to bring the adventurer closer to the being of the realm. Barely audible, she speaks, to say all the things important to her world, and none of things important to ours. Little by little she explains of her world and its dreams, of the light and the life, with purity in every utterance from her mouth, with words that flow like a breeze towards your ears, circling your head and moving your hair before settling deep into your heart, warming it and holding it so close and dear. Only the adventurer will ever hear this, so sweet and magniloquent the sounds, the deep love and care instilled into each minute syllable, each word a symbol of the truth and helm of the world, and the sea, and the sky. Can the adventurer even hear anymore, is to be asked and pondered, for there is no such thing as hearing in this world anymore, only a deep connection that allows them to hear her, in the softest and most soothing of ways, until rivers run out and mountains do fall from the sky, until space runs outs and eons run dry. Knotted are the energies crackling around, as the heavens open up and pull the adventurer from her, bringing them higher and higher to a brighter land, where glee and joy sprinkle the air with happiness and livelihood, where everything is perfect and the sun shines still and sleep never graces the minds of its inhabitants, so sunny and warm and joyous, but it is not like her…
*****
Yesterday does not exist in this place where sleep meets not its inhabitants, totally dismissed without recognition and forgotten by the sands that time has swept up the mountain, the wanderer sees the original cyclone that brought him to the mountain drift by and is only seen for a fleeting glance before it moves onward past the monuments of pearl and luxurious marble flooring. Ornate to the point of ivory bones breaking from the chest of once satin elephants, every objects and entity here shines with an opalescent beauty and savory scents fill the air from each and every delectably optically pleasing morsel of physical terrain and sustenance. Under the glazing eyes of any other person that could exist, the realm of unfathomable beauty and homeliness would appeal deeply into the soul of even the least superficial, a bastion of hope and sanctity from the cruel evils of the world which they previously new, a righteous rewards for the blackened and maliciously broody journey they had to endure on a planet so deranged and unreal, but the adventurous heart who has journeyed to the edge of insanity and beyond the bones of hallowed time can not feel a tragically thunderstruck emotion quite like all others.
Aromatic scents are repelled at every magically lit corner, with a deep, warm glow to comfort the mind and inspire those to take the air in through every pore in their body with the lightest expenditure of energy, quite daringly challenged by the wanderer who has come too far to question feelings but none yet too far to accept anything so bright and scintillating as such a light. Rarely knowing what lay ahead, and never quite knowing natures of the past that haunt their bedecked soul, wandering further leads towards a slightly tainted view of the otherwise perfect world where nothing knows of rest due to the infinitely revitalizing energies of the world. Every step oscillates through the world and seems to come back later, sharing a similar but altogether different clap of sound which echoes slightly on down the way as each progressive step brings new confidence and enlightenment to the wanderer.
Where each step brings new knowledge of an infinitely large world, never ceasing to walk would bring an astonishingly massive slew of knowledge, perfect for the eternal seekers and curious alike, welcoming and replenishing the mind with more imagery and lasting wonder than could ever be found at the end of an endless supply of stories, yet altogether the greatest catastrophe that could befall any ignorant enough to try. Having limitless knowledge of the wonders of a world would leave minds muddled and focused solely on the beauty that is, never on the grander possibility of beauty that might be, could be, and will be, and continuing on eternally would leave no time to review all the past wonders that were lost in time in the mind of someone so utterly blind. Even at the end of a rainbow that stretched for as long as one could walk, satisfaction would be demolished in all totality, shards of emeralds and rubies dashing forlornly to endless ends of the powder blue sky that levitates softly above the intrepid terrain, lost now to the entire universe to never be replaced. Rendering the journey useless wholly diminishes the point of the mendacious freedom granted by the joyfully constructed wonder presented unendingly to the oblivious inhabitants gleaming with happiness and amazement at their fortune to belong to an existence so augmented by their truly unique disposition of eternal light and airiness that they can not harbor fantasies of losing their beloved realm of a higher gravity and levity than possible by human measure. Even the rich need no money for there is no lack or want of all the beauteous and endearing elements of a twisted soul scattered through this land of mystics.
Thus the world remains in perfect harmony with its ability to heal and energize itself, replenishing its own use for life with itself, a perpetual place of perfect pleasure. Heathen to the mildest anarchist, no chaos exists in an infallibly structured land of bliss, pure to its own, independent from the universe of reality, unstainable and clean, tarnished not by the winds of tempests or the torrents of the seas, a land where water does not ripple and ice is only nice when held in the hand because it bears no lack of heat and remains wholly not cold. Except for the highest reaches of the stars, cold does not exist in such a place, snow and ice cream do not melt, the breeze is nowhere to be found and water does not feel different from the air, no scars of cold can be found throughout the expanse of land, and warmth hides even in the darkest of shadows, which are but the lightest gray due to the perpetual light radiating through the world.
Somewhere amongst the rolling hills is found the adventurer, seeking out anything of distraction or coolness, aiming to find a dark place to sit and rest, even without the need or physical desire to do so, needing a break from the light, broken by their changed soul in a land of wholeness and completion. Ultimately failing after seeking in vain the desperately needed shelter, sitting atop a hill brings wishes of outward seeking means to leave a land so fitfully bright and energetic that could not be haltered by the greatest fleeting emotion brought about by all the energies in the land where manifestations of dreams have never existed. Never has such great depression brewed within one in this land as now exists in the climber, and erosion of the perfectly twined energies emancipates the grass near them, causing it to wilt and slowly die as blade fall and roll on down the hill, away from their point of origin, spreading a seemingly fatal illness to all the life of this land it comes into contact with. Seeing the world decaying beneath them, the adventurer plucks individual blades of grass and proceeds to throw them down the hill, causing little pools of dead grass where ever a blade happens to settle, causing the hill to become spotted with dead grass except for the much larger area of decay where the adventurer sits. Eventually a wind gently passes by their neck, gliding and tingling the hairs to stand on end, energized with a cool life force flowing through them, raising themselves at the prospect of a different world, wishing flutteringly for coldness to reign upon them in an icy torrent of hail and snow. Teeming with force, the breeze garners all its strength to become a fully realized gust of wind that tears the dead grass from the earth and sends it flying towards the surrounding hills, blades making contact everywhere around the adventurer, a downpour of poison on the once mighty hills now emptying of life.
Inexorably spreading from hill to hill as more gusts of winds pour in to assist the spreading plague, the sky above becomes overcast with dark and brooding clouds that sow torment and horror into the land below that has never witnessed a color darker than pale orange. Newly formed yet brimming with water, the storm clouds release shower upon shower of the coolest rain to ever grace the skin, furiously pouring torrents of rain all upon the wanderer and the lands, stretching out in concentric circles from the wanderer’s hill to beyond the horizon, drowning the grass for untold miles and poisoning it all, decaying it instantly and washing it down into the wet earth. Tearing apart blade after blade, disintegrating and deliberating all too quickly on which blade should be demolished next, the rains torment the land and rip it of its former emerald beauty, with lightning beginning to strike all nearby trees and causing them to splinter and crack as the explode with each successive strike from the heavens, delivering them from a stagnant existence of continual light. Every tree is turned to splintered dust and every roots is seemingly torn up by the cyclones that now begin appearing everywhere to further ravage and annihilate the life of the land, spinning at such a rate to tear the soul from the body, utterly devastating any object in their path, and grinding it to miniscule pieces within its flurry of a whirling body. Relishing the transformation occurring all around them, the wanderer stands to face the new world, ravishing in the cool rain and hard winds and so decides to spin around, mimicking the cyclones spinning all around and imitating their awesomely destructive power before starting to run. Ceaselessly running away like a steed just freed from a life of bondage and servitude, finally allowed breathing new air and living without pause, regret or restraint, carelessly running for the simple joy of running, without need to please or uphold any bargains. Entertaining the fantasy of a darker world, the adventurer runs and runs until they tire and find it necessary to stop and gasp for air, feeling a burn and feeling alive, examining the real blood pumping through their arteries and veins, bringing them the precious oxygen they so ingest through their lungs. Parrying the desire to run on with the overwhelming need to sit and rest, the adventurer sits down once more on the wet dirt atop another hill countless lives away from the last, with a life more worth living and a heart more worth filling. Turning and obliterating all there is to see, the storm has ravaged countless fields of despair of wrought turmoil amidst the soil that used to never see the replenishing qualities of the rain. Somehow through the rain and ravaging, a cloud has been broken by a miracle that was never meant to grace this land, and the golden rays of the sun pour through a small hole in the heavens, which gradually widens to reveal a beautifully lively sun ready and willing to shine on all the land and bring its special energies to the soils.
This begins happening as the clouds dissipate ever so slowly to allow more and more sunlight through, touching the ancient but now renewed dirt of ages past, bringing the life of the sun into them and creating with that life a new kind of life not akin to this place. Hearing an all too familiar sound, the adventurer turns their head to view once more the passing cyclone of sand as it travels over the land, leaving tiny pieces of itself amongst the wet earth now being warmed by the sun. Each and every piece that falls off of the cyclone is sowed into the ground and at each and every spot a small plant starts to emerge, very slowly at first, then more gradually until it ends up growing altogether so fast it garners full maturity within a matter of minutes, allowing it to spread its seeds into the barren land not traversed upon by the cyclone, which in turn starts to grow the same, and soon the fields and hills around the adventurer are covered in beautiful grasses and flowers that are randomly dispersed and happily alive with the once missing energies of the sun and a truer world.
Perhaps a greater event than could be fully appreciated by a human mind, the adventurer becomes overcome with unbridled emotions and starts to cry, the tears falling from their face to the ground beneath them, where upon starts to grow the most beautiful flower to ever grace any land. Once the wanderer ceases to cry and recognizes the flower’s existence, they immediately know this flower from its distinctive purple glass stem, the stem of the flowers on the mountain of dreams. Instinctively, the adventurer smells the flower, which bears its petals in the daylight, and breathes deep of its beautiful fragrance that puts all to sleep who smell it by day, and so the adventurer falls into a deep sleep, but not before wishing to see the beauty at the top of their mountain. Soon time spins down and the adventurers falls through the universe and all the realms of dreams and lands of wonder as he descends onto the beach from whence they started their journey. On the gentle feeling of the waves washing of their face, the adventurer awakens in the twilight on the beach, gently lifting their head to open their eyes and listen to hear that old familiar sound of the cyclone of sand which passes by right before them. Now the adventurer opens his eyes to see only a blinding light in the shape of the sun, with the silhouette of the girl he left back on the mountain top, whom he loved.
