Fibonacci Dreaming

Fibonacci Dreaming

You wake up, alone. Here you are and here, there is nothing there.

You wake up, alone again. Again you are here and here is nothing here. But this here feels different than the other here. You note that.

You wake up, alone again and you are back here again, the first here. There is still nothing here, but you feel more comfortable this time, like you've been here before. And, y'know it makes you wonder, what's going on. You feel like Neal Young, and glance about for David and Graham. They are not here – there is no space here – no time. You like it here, and could get used to spending time here alone – with nothing but your imagination.

You wake up and it is cold. You look around and there is nothing here. You are still alone. The path again resembles a place where you may have been, but not like the deja vu that you recently remember having. You have a sense that you are in a place where there is a lot of space and you feel as though you are not alone, even though you are indeed alone.

You imagine that if you ever got to feel the Void, that this is what it would feel like. The there is there, but the clock is not running. The weight of nothing feels like there is something in the nothing, but your senses only detect the ambiance. Given time, you'll get by …

Open up the gates of the church and let me howdt of here – too many people have died in the name of Christ for anyone to heed the call … so many people have died that I can't believe it all and now I'm standing on the grave of a soldier that died in 1799 – and the day he died it was a birthday and I noticed it was mine …

You wake up and she is lying there beside you. She – you gave her most of your life – who is she? She is both comfortable and familiar, yet this is not anything that you remember. She is still asleep and you notice now that you are in a place, a bedroom, with all the accoutrements. There is a vanity with a mirror and an array of bottles and tubes – make-up that follows most females of the human species to transform into that 'presentable' state. A swoosh once philosophized that image is everything – feeding the vanity of the race.

As you skirt the room, you notice a window and an outside. You take a peek at a sunshiney day with a few round clouds floating in the sky. Picture yourself on a boat on a river, with tangerine lakes and marmalade skies. Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly … She is now awake on the bed. Come back to bed, sleepyhead. You rise to the occasion, glad that one has become two. You can make this work, this thyme.

You wake up and are alone again, naturally. Gordon had his songs – that one was overplayed on the radio, but sill brings memories about some whens and wheres. You expected normality after you drifted off and instead, you woke up with nothingness – alone in your comfort zone. Let the memories of the last dream be the first thing that you think of, when you open up your eyes from dreaming dark-star.

That is now where we start – back to one. Was she real or imaginary – is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see … See what? There is nothing here, nothing is real and there is nothing to get hung about. SFF.

Strawberry fields – Let me take you down, cause i'm going to strawberry fields. Philosophy, it's a walk on the slippery rocks, religion, is the cry of a dog. I'm not aware of too many things, I know what I know and I know what it brings … Only, you don't know, we don't know, but the fool on the hill sees the sun going down and the eyes in his head sees the whirled spinning round.

You wake up to the smell of bacon. This time, the room has a door and you can see that you are in a house. The smells are familiar and the bedroom is in fact the same bedroom as you noted the last time. You glance in the mirror and find that you have form and substance. Seems that you are male this time around – mid-thirty, ethnic and fairly good looking.

Two doors on the left, one open to the kitchen, a yellow room streaming with light; the second being a water-closet. You roll out of bed and choose the closet first – you can feel yourself slipping into a morning routine – deja vu all over again. You see things like razors and toothbrushes – always in tandem, pink and blue. If this is your life, you sure don't remember anything like it. Nick Cage did this in a movie one time, so you can pull through in Hollywood style.

Not !!! You are not an actor in a roll – you are not sure of who or what you are. This is different, like a drop-in role in somebody else's life. You wonder if you can mess anything up. But the next thing coming is likely the room with no space – the comfort zone that you keep getting dropped back into. So you take a chance, you've lost your ticket, so you'll have to stay on. You can only hope that it works out as well as a Year of the Cat.

...   Namaste'     doc