11.14.2022 | 02.12.2023
In dreams,
The woman leaned in and whispered, “Know this, boy. All stories are true; it is only that some of them have actually occurred.” I nodded along, hoping that if I feigned understanding, eventually I might. She spoke in parables, “Words, you’ll realize, are amorphic. They take the shape of their vessel. With this secret knowledge, the world will begin to unravel before you.”
“Wherever you may find yourself, you may find a story begging to be told. Before words, there was silence and there were many sounds. The gentle groan of a star has been telling its story for much longer than we could ever imagine.” She instructed me to close my eyes, and so I did.
“Sit here, in darkness. Escape.” Once again, I obeyed.
In dream, I fled to the north. I could hardly make out her question, “Where are you?” “I’m sitting beside a fire. I can sense that it’s cold, but I feel warm.” The soft crackle of the fire lulled me into a trance. The deeper I drew my breaths, the further I sank into the reverie. A cold breeze sent a shudder down my spine. I began to shiver. I opened my eyes to ensure I was still sat in the carnival booth and not marooned on a frozen tundra. She scowled, “Close your eyes. We are not done.” I abandoned my body to a makeshift winter.
“What do you hear?” she asked. “I hear a crunch, several crunches. They move in rhythm - there’s a distinct cadence to them.” I concentrated on these noises, wishing to uncover the source. “I think they’re footsteps. They’re getting louder. Someone is approaching.”
Now, what I cannot explain is how she had entered the sacred depth of my dream. Before long, she sat by the fire with me, her form flickering as if borne from the flames themselves. I fought hard to try and control her movement, yet she danced in my mind, unfettered, entirely beyond my reach. With a knowing smile, she winked. A gentle wisdom permeated the air between us, as though her thoughts etched themselves into the fabric of my mind: “Stories, much like dreams, are bridges to unseen realities. Look where no one is, for there lie tales yearning for their discovery.”
When I woke, the lady was no longer beside me. In fact, she had left no evidence of ever having been there in the first place.
It was late. I saw movements and caught glimpses of creatures that I was not entirely sure I had permission to see. In this, I found immense pleasure. I felt special and the loneliness that had grown to an overwhelming size in the last year began to shrink. When the shadows noticed my gaze, they disappeared and I was left alone with the dark again.
I felt that my life had taken the shape of a sad, miserable dance. I rose, shuffling my way through the dark to the washroom. I’ve met my own gaze in many dimly lit mirrors, never quite recognizing who I’ve become. Each reflection, further divorced from the man I once knew. Time is a cruel king. And I, his jester.
The burden of years, a painful truth. A reality I wear like a cloak; my frown seems to have grown into a permanent wrinkle. I look over my shoulder, 10 miles of cigarettes.
A day after, I sit beneath an oak tree. Enveloped by its roots, I feel that were a divine retribution to strike me down and bind me to this spot, I would wither away in a very pleasant state; something I cannot say for most other moments in my life.