waking

Past the horizon of the waking mind lies a land where the laws of logic and learning fail to apply.

In this land there was once a man.

The land he traveled was draped in night. Since the man was a boy the land was coated in a sickeningly sweet darkness that seeps into the nooks and crannies of the soul. The only defense against the night, which would lull the man into a depravity from which he may never escape, is the lamp which lights the path before him.

        The lamp was as old as the land and had guided him since boyhood. He knew no mother or father, only the lamps warmth and light pressed against the cold dark, a small ember at the bottom the ocean of darkness that was the land of dreams.

Knowing no better the boy, who was now a man, named the lamp god.

        The boy, now a man, walked with a limp and when he spoke it sounded like the southern winds’ sweetest whispers, like promises yet to be fulfilled but eagerly awaited. Softly caressing the hearts of those who cared to listen and putting them at ease, if only for a fleeting moment. A gentleness earned by only those who were no stranger to harsh realities.

        His eyes betrayed his past. Seated in a weather worn face dug into barren rock, long worn down by the cruel bite of the North wind. The eyes, seated in their barren thrones framed by ivory hair, have a warm depth that can only be earned through a life on the road.

        With a lopsided gate he wandered through the wilderness of dreams. Hobbling through the mire like an offbeat drum yet singing with a voice like a sweet autumns breeze, offering sweet reprise but promising the bitter winter.

        So, the boy who was then a man, traveled the land of smothered twilight. Wandered the darks mists which caressed all the land had to offer. Wispy smoke gasping for a breath which would never come.

        Down the melancholy road the man was led by the one light, seemingly pulling his exhausted heart, which beat more out of habit than out of passion. It was from this tired heart that the man’s great kindness came. For the lamp gave the man light to see, but this was also a great curse on the man. For by seeing, he truly understood what the world had lost. He could see where the streams had once run with crisp cool water, now filled with ash. He could see the trees which had lost all pleasant form, and were now merely monuments to depravity. He saw were there had once been life, and that there was now only decay. The light could not dispel the sickeningly sweet scent of the miasma, but it could reveal its source. It was then, when he was still but a boy, that he understood.

         He gained insight on that day, but he also lost the innocence which had gave him false hope that there was still natural good in the world he wandered. Still, the light kept its champions heart strong and did not allow him to grow cold.

         The boy, now a man, felt deeply the pain of his brothers and sisters who still wandered the dark, and had felt their bitter respite when they rebuked him. For many of them preferred ignorance in the dark over the harsh truths of the light.

        Still, some took solace in the light and saw the world for what it was meant to be and for what it had become. So, for a while the man had companionship, but the road was hard and winding. The family he collected would often find themselves lost, on another path, or they would somehow slip away into that place the flame spoke of. So, the man’s path was what it had always been destined to be, a lonely pilgrimage through an Eden succumbed to Hell.

        So, the man wondered for years, walking the depths of an arid oceans floor, walking the summits of mountains who had long sense abandoned their glory. His only companions the mists seeking to consume, and the light seeking to redeem.

        One day, the man found himself sitting for his bones had finally given way to the cruelty of the path before him, the path the light had guided him towards. It was here in the twilight of his years that the man felt a gentle call. He heard a sweet calling from the light, as he fell into deeper still into slumber his mind was lulled to sleep by its gentle call. The calling was a so~

What is dead may not yet die.

For once you grow cold your spirit need not hide

And is it not said, that one day death may die?

And is it not in sleep That peace resides?

So, like the Child at the end of the day

Do not fear to rest your head

For you have had your fill of play

And now, it is time to see where your spirit is lead

The Righteous have no need to fear

It will only slow you, on the path to paradise

Where you will see those lost, the near and dear

Worry not, one has gone ahead to pay your entry price

So, come, do not fear the sleep

Death is only skin deep

        And so, the man fell into a deep sleep from which his body would never wake, and he found the rest and peace he never found in this place so close to hell. Yet, the lamp burned on, and caught the eye of a boy, not yet a man, who found himself called to its warm light which pushed out the dark which had grown within the boy’s heart. So, the light chose another champion for its crusade.

Past the horizon of the waking mind lies a land where the laws of logic and learning fail to apply.

In this land there was once a man.