Last night, I had a reality. While darkness melted me into this drowsed realism, lethargic blood undulated within my capillaries, sheaths lidded my dream orbs, reverberations eluded my ears, and my before shapeable mind possessed the consistency of stone. As I traversed realms, my stony mind's eye opened into a dimly fogged universe filled with ambling bodies catatonically passing one another. Moving among the figures to a lofty spot, I whooshed aside the haze to allow my reality orbs better vision. I was now stooped high above the creatures, and peering through a thinned oval of murk, I could discern distinct groups within the masses; and throughout individual groups, I noticed common skin color, dress, and mannerisms.
An inherent uniqueness from each assemblage speared luster across the gray backdrop, but my hardened head was useless in calculating what these shimmers contained. Scanning further in curiosity, select clusters appeared to be quarreling or perhaps even fighting. The actual weight of these disputes de-breathed me when I spotted blotches of red staining the dull gloom-blood had been spilt. My pebble brain, again a failure, could not conclude the simplistic truths behind the battles. Motionless with horror, I saw more. I saw cheating. I saw stealing. I saw beatings. I saw hangings. I saw shootings. I saw bombs. And then, I saw nothing.
Waking with accelerated gasps filling my lungs and salty perspiration trailing into my mouth, it struck me. It was just a reality. Wow!!! Thank goodness. Alleviated, I rustled from bed, threw on a change of clothes, and hit the door running. “Where to go?” I asked, knowing the place would be my favorite, The Peak. On my trek to The Peak, a path channeled me into a forest where my ears felt the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot and where nature's crisp air floated my thoughts away. “Ah, this is dream,” I thought, sensing my sandy mind's lightness. Step by step, I made my way to The Peak until I came to rest at its base. From here, my dream orbs could see The Peak's crystal-white summit. Exhilarated by the sight, I began running up The Peak's flank.
Run, run, and run I did, when finally, I reached the apex. It was here that I felt the sun's soft glow gently caress my cheek and a cool breeze comb back my hair, but The Peak offered more. It had a pristine view, and from it, my dream orbs were able to capture the images of groups similar to those experienced in my sleeping reality. The groups certainly were still having disputes, but instead of bloody disagreements staining the pure landscape, handshakes dominated the scene. Rather than death and devilry stinging my shielded vision, acceptance and respect dilated my heart.
While seated atop The Peak, I detected another picture forming far below. At the center of this sight stood the master of dreams, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and encompassing him was a wreath of diverse people locking hands with each other. The ring was listening intently to Dr. King's preaching as the echoes of his convictions played upon my ears. He did not speak of distant dreams, but of realized ones. He did not scorn unsightly atrocities, but praised the new era at hand. Because now, he said, we had truly become an indivisible race-not man, nor woman, not black, nor white, not Mexican, not American, not British, nor Middle-eastern, not rich, nor poor, not gay, nor straight, but simply human.
Satisfied and enriched by what I had heard and seen, I now slid back down The Peak's snow sprinkled sides. Back through the forest and towards my home I went, and as I went, reflections seined my sandy mind. This sifting unveiled a newly formed personal tenet, which was this. I vowed never to delve into the naïve sphere of reality again but rather, prosper in the enlightenment of dream. For reality is to be asleep, and dream is to be awake.
