This is the home of Sleeping in the Meadows.

"Surreal and poetic reflections on life and imagination... told in 3rd person through the dreams and adventures of two beings, Sa and Atee." 

Sunday, November 16

Number Sixty Nine

Atee remembered a dream she had had. She didn't want to remember. Sometimes it was better to not think about certain things. Sometimes she just wanted to bury her head in the sand until she was too old to remember anything.

She could walk and talk and go through all her parts fine. She could play by the rules and follow the script. She would just go through the motions and life was so easy.

And a dream would try to meet her during the day. It would try to pull her into the sky or sink her through the ground.

Atee could surrender and go through a dream or two. But, she would just cry. Every moment spent in a dream was a moment she spent in a photograph. She hated being still and she hated faded colors. She wanted out of the past, she would rather pass unnoticed than live through history.

It was remarkable when the rain fell before the sun, as it waited at its highest point. It was remarkable when the snow fell and the sun couldn't melt it, it was remarkable when white light reflected off the ice crystals and blinded the planet.

It was remarkable when the planet spun itself into a coma and froze over.

Atee predicted an earthquake would split the core in half. She would see the other half splitting away. The infernal mass would float away downstream, towards another star. And she would learn to live with everyone on her side. The halves could split again and everyone may have to find a new planet.

She refused to fly all alone.
She refused to wait and watch, she refused to carry all the flowers.

She couldn't always tell what she saw. Was it a tree, or a parent. Or something to kill for fuel. Was it a lush planet or a seed, or a single cell.

And what did she see in herself, where was she. She knew where everyone else saw, but what did she think.

And where did this light come from. The world got it from the stars. But where did the stars get it, is there light without stars?

She knew if she sat in the dark, she didn't make any of her own. She was just an empty container.

She could imagine beautiful light showing from her eyes.

She could imagine a tangible ghost. She could imagine an unbounded attachment, a bond so free and limitless. She could hold her hands together and trap light inside, only by imagining. Only by her imagination she could share light, could she wrap it in a package, could she cherish it in her heart.

She didn't have enough time to learn to forget. And she could only sleep until her toes tingled and she sat up. And she could only stand until the wind knocked her down. It was by her own balance that she fell and, it was by her own concentration that she made mistakes.

Some songs were made to be silent. It wasn't only her that delighted in a bathtub of warm air. It wasn't just a snake that enjoys new skin.

She prayed once that she should be able to hear the trees and the clouds and the galaxies and the whole cosmos. They didn't exist to be merely seen and felt. She couldn't always hear what she could see.

She had a lost friend in all the places her first breaths went to. She'll make more unknown friends when she spends her first days in the ground. She will give up all she ever accumulated without question. They will have no one to thank when they become what she was.

Nothing changed for her. She had been zero before today and tomorrow she will remain a zero. Just one glorious day to be alive and revel in a mess. One moment to shine and compete with all the others. Just a mere second to wake up and see the sun, to taste the water and touch the sky.

And nothing changed the next time when the rest went through the same thing.

One was listening to the rain splatter against the shingles above their head. One was rolling down a grassy hill into a flowery knoll. One was looking one last time at his planet he had promised to return to. One was inside a closet hiding from the world. One was singing a song.

She couldn't be so lucky. She couldn't be anymore. Her hour was over. She would watch if she could. She would spare everything but her consciousness just to see the world for another day. She didn't know what good her soul was if it didn't help her get back to Heaven.
She didn't know what good her money was when she couldn't buy back the life she lost.
She didn't know what good her music was when it couldn't follow her out of the world.
She didn't know what good it was to be popular when there was nobody left when she arrived.

She could keep her memories and she could keep her hope and dreams.

She would trade her hope and dreams for a friend, if she could.
She would trade her memories for a little happiness.

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