In another place, somewhere forgotten by man, there stands a tree a mile around, its roots wreathed in mist, its boughs reaching into the heavens. It is old. Older than anything. And each leaf cradles a delicate dewdrop, glistening in the starlight. But there are no stars out. Every dewdrop contains an entire reality, with its own rules, time, space, and people. One of these worlds is our own. The others are the worlds we imagine. They creep through from just beyond that veil, filling up our mythology, our fiction, even our idle fancies. Sometimes, when our guard is down, they even manifest as deja vu. This is why stories and campfires and libraries have the mystical quality they do. For thousands of years, we have been scraping away at this boundary, trying to understand it, to push beyond the edge of that celestial marble. When we dream, we float on its surface. So close, yet so far. But some of us have reached through it. Havent you ever wondered why we cry? Lenses and light are our gateways to distant worlds. Through tear-streaked eyes, you might glimpse the truth. Wake up and dream.
Posted on: Thu, 31 Oct 2013 05:44:18 +0000
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