THE FURNISHED ROAD

From deep sleep at the tip of the Universe’s hip where gods keep their feet fluorescent and leap in the marvel Dreams of their creation, sounds creep and reap sleep out my ear, I listen, they speak: “wake up, there is no night in time, light just moves in space, walk with us, as always we shall follow the light and watch over their sleeping thoughts, alter certain paradigms and do touch-ups there and there to influence their decisions in advance, enlighten them” they are the manufacturers of dreams. Amidst the crucifying shock shattering every wall of my ego, one of them whispered what seemed to have been like a wind propelling friction with still flames within the sun to help blow heat to this earth, the voice said: to nomads; time does not matter, only space does. Now let us displace, evacuate this place, we’ve got dreams to chase…Walk with us…

When others sent their spirits to walk forth and open path for their bodies to follow, others had their heads beneath their knees in the quest of fortune, they left no stone unturned, attention to detail I thought, I later however learned that; they left no stone unturned for they failed to move rocks. We all walked through the gallery of dreams, a road that seemed to have been constructed just when our feet touched the ground and destroyed once the same feet move from the ground to the next step. The road was like a world of its own, a vertical world, where all are queued for same experiences and thus no one can be different from the next, only time makes them feel better because they went first or even bitter because the weren’t first, followed steps of the ones before therefore made them the worst of all that could have happened and somehow faded, maybe because it was not meant to last. We walked through the passages of collective imaginations of the sleeping minds; some images had colours unfamiliar to human eyes, lines of dots no map reader can plot, special effects no filters can distort, pass comprehension to concepts beyond mortal thought, I thought, these are the worlds transcended to by spirits of philosophers and mystics we have left far in history, why did we think we had left them when they form part of what we think and believe?

The road was furnished with too many stories of what is to happen and strange to the eye was the sudden emergence of ideas on pages written in a language I could not understand, but I could tell they were a rough draft of what the architects of the Universe were guided by, before the times explosives were planted in gigantic non-practical books and the big bang theory materialized.  I saw, not just the tress but generations of humans still serving their ten thousand years of solitude as stems that form a sacred forest where Dreams are sawn, and reality scenes are born. I saw not just holy ghosts of the past but mysterious beings who eat their heads off, so they could taste their thoughts, knowing not that; mind resides not in the head but all around, they went ahead and buried their hopes of basking in the elysian ambience of paradise with ghostly desires so they played dead, Dreams played binoculars casting midget spells on the distance so they could cut short their journey and catch their destination off-guard.

And then it hit me, there is no death in Dreams, Dreams rather scarifies themselves to limbo for us to wake up and live, up the road when I gazed were the 12 apostles rejoicing as children who had just discovered the reverse reaction of oceans to clouds, the apostles were rapidly tuning rocks into bread, water into wine, they drank and unwind, back at it again, with cruelty they turned all the world’s bread into rocks, the famished apocalypse, starvation took the place of reality, with the abuse of faith and prayer magic came to be, and suddenly it occurred to me; Faith is the bridge between me and the divine, there is no way I can access Nirvana if there is no link between my soul and hers. The furnished road ceased not with its miracles, the elders lead me into a garden of souls where our sorrows are used to nurture the soil and our tears irrigate their roots, we suffer to better the lives of those to be born from are waists, the message I deciphered from what I saw.

"The Spirits have created a world of illusions for you. What you see is merely a physical manifestation of your thoughts, past thoughts; those few that went unobsereved are mothers to déjà vu, and those of you who Dream with open minds: manufacture your realities in advance. Yes; do not sleep and Dream, Dream your way to a beautiful sleep."

entranced in a vortex dance of enchantment they all recited, I knew then that; it is not always about the destination but more about the experience through the journey. Moreover; not every experience has a lesson, sometimes it is just about the experience itself.