Chasm

O N E

Have you ever woken up from a dream that seemed so real, so familiar, yet completely fictional? A dream in which flying is possible, where flying is normal. It seems so real, that it slips your mind from time to time and you need to stop yourself for a moment, think to yourself, and remember that you really cannot jump from a tall building without major consequences. You try to fall asleep and re-emerge into that world, so you toss and turn, trying to build that world from scratch. But you can't seem to recall all the details, it becomes messy scenery, and nothing is quite the way you remember it. The leaves on the trees seem to be rustling mechanically, the birds don't sound the same, and flying seems scary. Faces and voices are impossible to picture, and any voice you may hear seems to just be yours, a forced line you try to feed another character, a figment of your imagination. It's no longer magical.

That's what I feel, every single night. The world I dream about is beautiful and magical, mystical and gleeful. Within that world, I feel loved and accepted. I feel free. I am no longer bound by my reality's limitations and woes. The creatures there accept me as one of their own and I have accepted myself within those walls to be enough. I may not have wings and I may not fly, but the lack of toxicity surrounding me has offered me all the freedom I could crave for.

How I long to be forever there, in eternal slumber, happy. Because let's be fair, reality sucks.

I am no longer afraid of death, I hope it is swift and I hope it is painless. I would like to go peacefully, preferably in my sleep. I have fabricated a plan even, to ensure that when the time is right, I go out just that way. But I will not be sharing that with you, as it is my secret, only mine to know. It's rather beautiful, having control. We have no control over whether we're born, so at least we have the power to control our death. Because despite our riches or our lack thereof, we are but flesh and bones, eventually becoming dust for mother nature to consume. We all become the same food for worms to devour and fertilizer for plants to grow. I don't know about the afterlife, as there are many theories out there, mostly stemming from religion. I have a feeling they all stem from the fear of death and the need for control by the person in charge of a group of people, be it a priest, a rabbi, a minister, an imam, or whatever suits your personal beliefs.

Ever since humans evolved from primates, we were searching for a meaning for this life. What were we put on this earth for? Are we meant to merely procreate and continue the human race or is there something out there, waiting to judge us based on our actions and divide us into "good" or "bad", giving us a shot at eternal life, away from suffering and greed? My opinion should be taken as just that, an opinion. I am not in any place to change your mind, though I am inviting you into mine. Is perhaps the idea of "heaven" and "hell" purely out there to control humankind, as without any repercussions man would act out of raw animalistic instincts? Mating, hunting, eating, and letting natural selection take its course. In the wild, if an animal were sick, it would eliminate itself from the pack, so as not to be a burden. But now, thanks to modern medicine and consciousness of right and wrong, fueled by the idea of "heaven" and "hell", we keep the weak in our pack and choose leaders, not upon their strength but upon their articulation and manipulation of speech.

But enough of my rambling, I must be annoying you by now.

In my dream, I am carelessly running around in a meadow full of flowers, alongside exotic creatures. I am wearing a sheer white dress and my bare toes dig into the soft earth. The flowers go on and on and spread across the horizon and beyond. Giant grasshopper-like bugs seem to be grazing the greenery, undisturbed by my presence, untouched by the cruel hand of mankind, thriving. The sun is shining bright and bleaching my already sun-kissed hair. The cracked mirror in the middle of the field shows a reflection, resembling myself, although the image remains unmoved, frozen in time. My lips are curled into a soft smile, my gaze straight ahead, unblinking. I am wearing the same sheer dress, although in the reflection it seems to be slightly torn. Strange, as I don't remember that from my previous encounters with it. Perhaps it is the way the light reflects upon the shards of broken glass, merely an optical illusion.