Beauty . Death . Freedom . Illusion

I am travelling across a countryside in a caravan with all of the world. All of the world is in a caravan with me, every travelling cart filled its people. We journey through avenues of apple trees and orchards, pumpkin patches and autumnal air, fall and all its changes, beauty and death .... in the limbo of life .... in the ebb and tide of dream .... in the wax and wane of matter and permanence.

We reach our destination. It is an underground cavern, roofed by the giant, mossy roots of a god tree, anaconda vines interweaving amongst the rock and stone. Suddenly, there are fiery explosions .... there is heat and smoke and flames .... Liquid fire explodes from out of the air .... inferno roasting the world’s people alive .... to ashes .... to burnt, charred, cindered corpses and remains.

To nothing.

Those few of us at the beginning of the procession, glance back and scream in horror at it all, our feet taking us instinctively forward, while our minds and heart reach instinctively back for what once and never was. But, there is a way inside. There is safety ahead. And yet, as with all things, still it comes at a price. A costly one to pay .... for it is prison .... It is slavery. To escape the fire we cannot be free .... We cannot be free if we want to escape.

We jump .... we cling to the slippery ledge of salvation. A small dark, unconscious window above our head beckons us beyond. Freedom and death are what lie behind .... are what lie in the back of us, waiting to explode. Some of us slip through. There are those within of whom we are afraid, those who would catch us .... kill us .... convert us ... into something unknown and other ... for we ARE unknown and other.

They are dressed in white like angels, but carry weapons that looked like giant syringes, which they bludgeoned a couple of us to the ground and to death with.

It’s all the same .... catch us .... kill us .... convert us .... death is death .... there is no freedom. Only illusion. Only end. Some of us slip from the ledge and into the lava. Some of us sneak in only to be killed despite that. I hang in the balance, never to know my fate. The dreaming ends as all things must .... Goodnight ....