Paths taken, paths not

The faint glow of a light, smothered by a sizable chunk of Himalayan salt, an enigmatic sheen of fiery red, its seemingly random shape and craggy, imperfect countenance strangely reminiscent of the sun. Beautiful. Immaculate.

The ceiling fan whirls almost soundlessly above me as I lay still in my warm cavern, a little corner of shelter from the rush of the world. I face the stars that are not, I see the futures that may be in them; or perhaps the futures I want to be. Try as I may I cannot shake the dense illusions which uncertainty brings, a black hole of many things found wanting, many without a name in any language spoken. Turning to my side, I face the blue walls of my shrine of thought, shadowy and ever as pristine. For a fleeting moment I am free of the immaterial shadows the futures cast, until the stars return, dancing before the mirrors of my soul. On the edge of sleep, parallel futures reveal themselves to me, or want to, for they are distant and muffled like listening to someone from across a chasm.

A light filters through the semi-translucent curtains, almost fluid in the half-light, rising and falling with the ever so slight fluctuations of wind flow, like the waves on the beach from a dream of long ago. There was the sighing of the wind, soft and melancholy, the gentle lapping of the waves on my feet as I stare into a shining river in the sky. Far in the distance the birds seek accommodation from an island of choice, discerned without conscious thought, like a dream. The atmosphere itself glimmers, as if saturated with gods and magic.

Dream takes me away. I see fragments of the story (of which little do I remember) of the boy who is me but is not me unfold before my dream eyes. The boy has a snow white cat in his room, which I do not. I ponder the array of possible meanings, the symbolisms. Such a diverse and muddled myriad of possibilities. Everything is in its place and need not be moved. The faraway voice echos, resounds. It calls once more: Time for waking. The convoluted duality of my feelings at the time confused me, maimed my thinking. Too bad; too good.

Waking into reality, the repercussions of dreaming still grasp me in their lazy, yet firm hold. Mesmerising me, dulling my senses. The sun rose; my mind followed dreamily behind, a gray shell. The blinding flare of reality, sans illusions, sans delusions, sans solace, strikes the eye of my consciousness. Realisation, I may yet have to walk the darkest road, the path which descends into fog, untravelled. Uncertainty grips me, an icy hook on my soul.

Prayer. Let all be revealed in time. If so be my destiny to travel the darkest road, or any other, may it be that I do not walk any road alone.

In discord your song sounds true.
Who else can it be but you?
Hear, my reply pure, and true:
A promise. Yes I do.

Written 10th February 2010. Dreaming, again.