This underground account of the lost love that was only possible. Although it wasn’t practical. Adults forget the secrets they once knew. Mostly because the system tries to beat out any trace of wisdom or knowledge. Anything that isn’t hidden in Poetry.
Even then your odds are based upon the probability of pi. Speaking of odds, this reminds me of a story that I wrote some sixteen years ago. It was bad timing for a story. It was however good practice and there was something that was needed to be recalled.
Those that listen to the wind, and hear the voice in the running stream. Those of us know of higher callings in life than the rat race and its bone chilling hate.
Those that know what it means to know kindness. Those are the ones that know of truth. You will find it in most dogs that haven’t been abused. However it is never seen in a cat. They lack the very basic fiber to know the difference and lack the ability to be like a dog in any way.
Be Like Fido
A paradox of absurdity is trying to make cats turn into dogs. It’s messy and the cats don’t like it. That is to be more specific that it is mostly bad for the cats. The dogs however find that the cats who abused them, will benefit from knowing better understanding. If nothing else perhaps for a short time in their brief lives.
There was this dream from my childhood that I remember of being in a garden. There was a tree that was so pretty. It was in the fall of the year and the tree was losing its leaves. As the light wind blew the tree’s leaves started to rain down, and in the maelstrom there was one that I caught as it fell through the air.
This is to say that as a leaf was blowing in the wind. I caught one before it touched the ground. However in a dream anything could be magic and this was no different. The garden disappeared and there was a lady who is my equal that met my gaze.
She says to me, “It was not by chance that you caught that leaf falling through the air, and you and me are right as rain.”
“Who are you my dear that I may know more?” I ask her with my eyes full of wonder and my heart feeling warmer and lighter than any dream.
“You will know who I am, no words can describe our bond.” Then she took the leaf from my hand and said, “Now go into the world and be born again. Find me if you dare, but Remember to wake up before the sleeper wakes.”
Then upon closing my eyes I was born new in a fresh world with oxygen and a place that was strange. Although it is wonderful, and very different.”
I had no idea what was in store for me. To say a heap of living would be an understatement. It’s been more like a dream that makes your head hurt, and your body ache.
Looking through the streets with no name, and finding none that would match the divine soul I was looking for. What is a man in need to do? They ask for help. In such a dream like world, even asking for help is seen as weird to the dream. They don’t know how to make heads or tails of the situation.
If they could help, would they? It might be it would defeat the purpose of trying to keep the dreamer asleep. Would they want you to wake up too soon? Then there is also the risk of over sleeping and being late to the party.
Both are bad. Try navigating through the world looking for someone that doesn’t want to be found. Is it a game of hide and seek or just the careless wind blowing in the south?
Wind Blows Bleak
Speaking of which in a dream does the wind actually give a damn where it blows? That is absurd, to think the wind thinks it blows. The wind exists, we think it blows but to the wind it’s just existing. Need you really define the wind as blowing to know it exists?
In a dream, people will try to show you fools gold, and pictures of desire that leave you as empty as an old bottle of booze. However like that empty bottle of booze dreaming while dreaming is absurd and leads to confusion like having drank that bottle of booze.