My Writings

A Waking Dreamer

Send the southern wind. I am not ashamed to say that I relish it. And your other gifts. What am I to do upon realizing myself in the material world? To lie down with an empty stomach and die? I seek the blessed state of not wanting, supreme satisfaction. To want nothing is to lack nothing.

What am I to do except to seek my fortune? I know where to find my bliss, because I do not know where it is – hidden, myself – blissfully unaware that I was poor, felt wealthy. Now that I realized my nakedness, I need clothes, and beautiful ones.

But worst of all, now that I know that you are out there, myself – locked in a small world, I am dying with anticipation and longing. Do you seek me as intently, as feverishly? I have turned every stone in my garden, to no avail, I have set out on the longest journey. Time becomes small in waiting, sleepless nights, sailing towards a distant star, at times – treacherously close.

A waking dreamer, and the dream – like an alien smell, enchants some and repulses others. Destined to be alone with it while surrounded at all times. So follow your dreams, if you dare, enduring their burning presence, the maddening laughter of possibility, probability, and fate.

But first, if you would accept an advice from one such me, reinforce the hulk of your soul-ship.

Lest it melts and sends you to your own depths.


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