Besides my good looks and charm, my dependence upon worldly possessions, my desires of the flesh and the horror that one day I’ll die, lies a cranny carved in some ediface of rock, undisturbed for what seems like a blink in the eye of an otherwise indifferent universe. The nook is not particularly interesting, but it is what is seeping from this which draws my attention: I can see in my minds-eye that there is almost no light that far down, yet there is a glow pouring out of the distance.
Through the murk and the mire, you have been swimming for far too long now, and your lungs are aching for air the way all those miners felt. But now you’re there.
When you wake up on a beach, soaking wet, you wonder how you got there. You are completely naked, except for a long gold necklace around you neck; the necklace is roughly interwoven, thick strands of solid wire, reminiscient of your mother’s hair.
Smoke drifts off in the distance as you drift off to sleep, only to wake up to a blizzard outside of your window. A blizzard of water, not snow, pouring in your open window. All that water? From the sky, not the ocean. That gasping for breath? The realization that you’re not really where you thought you were. That dream that faded so quickly into reality? We see reality the way we see blood seep through a bandage, or the way we see a cloud drift across the sky. Forget what you think about me, and you, and our ancestors, we are the important ones, the world is subject to our whims, because we dream a god, god does not dream man.
