Visionary

I am most alive in a dream. In these restless quiet travels, I can stumble over mountains and wipe my eyes with sand and fervently move my hands down the lines in the lands caressing the noble void that is a heart's frontier. An untouchable, invisible stretch of exploration that spans across centuries, millennia even (for we can live that long if we try), carries its weight over my body and over yours. A warm wind with periodic gusts may escalate the balance in the meter of our souls. A pendulum can keep time but tell no time to the cushioned rains over clouds. No maudlin existence resides here, only a benign sort of nostalgia enlaced in the cross-hatch patterned stone under our bare feet. The reaching above all hypothesis had ever anticipated, above the foundation that firmly places me, strong, stubborn life, exhaling in the pleasures that fall into a basket, I can wear as ribbons to show them why. Why the sun can always rise to warm every particle on the inside and stroke my face in a comforting habit. Why I smile when the rain comes barreling down from the sky. Why I know every thing is going to be just fine. In my dreams, I feel so much more life, a real life, an existential binge and an endless search of knowledge. In my dreams, we're alright.