Dream

The poet closed his eyes and dreamed. He dreamed of better things, higher things. The structure of his world altered and morality lightened. His spirit arched into the universe and conversed with angels. Beneath, his body rested in the cool embrace of winter night, a lost love shaping his consciousness, empathically feeling the pain of the world. So this is samsara he mused, all the world is suffering. Behind his fluttering eyelids like a moth preparing for flight, his eyes perceived wonders, dragons, helixes and waterfalls. Gradually he became aware that he was flying, moving through cloud into the heady moonlight, where he touched the face of the sky and settled into deep, troubled and heavy thoughts. His sleeping body twitched as he witnessed the horrors of the past. Moving further into a realm hidden and dark, he realised he was about to come into the presence of a great power, a divine being, and felt an incredible sense of urgency, a calling…fading softly the calling was replaced by the clopping of horses’ hooves outside as his body returned to consciousness, returned to the world.