By The Shore of Our Dreams
Where is it that we find ourselves when our eyes abruptly disturb the slumber with which we have embraced and endured ourselves with throughout the ages of Man. When the clock strikes twelve are we able to divine meaning or is it just another party that the next door neighbor is gracing upon our presence. In the hesitation of the moment do we find that which we are looking for or is it just one more disturbance in a long, long line of stupidity and deceit. Scratching the itch, do we then recover?
Or perhaps our moment in time is nothing but an imagined flight of fancy as we sit here bound to a mortality that no one in their right mind would conjure for another much less themselves. Gated, we are bound but would it not be delicious to embark on some other journey perhaps. Dream time is such a wonderful time is it not, always reaching and yet the grasp continually fails us.
It’s really of little consequence since we don’t even notice anyway.
Like a fly on the wall, everything is heard and yet as the classrooms come and go upon the sands of time what remains but that impetuous moment of our creation. Is it that we are still gasping for our first breath, is that our reason to pretend that all is well in our state of ignorance and deceit. We are born to live and yet death constantly nips our heels in its persistence that we run our course. First one to the finish line wins.
In motivation we take action and as our decisions come to haunt us we tend to lovingly embrace our baggage so it may be of some use to us in our predicament. Amazingly we see no further than the nose to which we have become fixated. Life becomes nothing but a role of events played for an audience that has become disinterested long ago and yet are glued to the chair of hope, desire and you guessed it, deceit.
Becoming isn’t all that it is cracked up to be. And so in the moments of between-time lives are lived, lost and lived again. Played out for our enjoyment, purpose becomes plan and before you know it, the stork arrives at the doorstep bearing gifts.
The way out isn’t through the eye of the needle, that’s the way in.
Upon waking from sleep there is no need to relive the night.