dreams

The winds are sweeping in now. It’s hot, but cold under the red sycamore tree where orchids are growing out of every other branch. I pick one and hand it to my teammate. She eats it and we dance, erotically. Our whirling sends colors splashing across the field and, ironically, (because we started out in hopes of inspiring rain), the rainbow we’ve created slowly dehydrates everything around us. We watch from a distance as the Frisbee flies left and right, secretly plotting how best to sneak into the game and use it for the starcraft transporter that it really is.

I’m dreaming, but I know it. Fully awake and able to manipulate reality, constructing absurd scenarios and directing events from atop my velvety sheets, yet titillated by the spontaneity of my actions. Still and active; an observer and a participant; a desert rose in winter. I send myself off with a kiss and watch as my body floats into a creamy wonderland of mystique and vigor. Like a ghost, but human.

 It’s absurd to think that fairytales and fate can lie within your grasp, but only if you submit to the rigidity of absurdity. Me, I’ve learned how to adapt. Like a rubber ball, acknowledging the obstacles, but using them to rebound into a life of eternal spontaneous response. Jettisoning into the ebb and flow of unpredictability with the audacity of a thousand kamikaze soldiers. If I can dream it I can become it. Follow your dreams; they’ll lead you to your destiny. Keep your dreams alive. As it turns out, all of those worldy anecdotes and aphorisms that we’ve been prescribed as children are true, but the people who say them usually have no clue what they mean and the people who know they're true feel strange vocalizing them because they are truly doing them no justice. They’re usually just dreaming…