19930208

Impatience lays upon the dream. Undirected, it is vaguely felt, but a definition it lacks. The closest would be impatience toward the status quo. That which is stationary is unused. That which is unused chafes.

The dreamer senses this and paces. Mental footsteps following a shallow groove which he detests. Around and round the ironic circle of logic. That which is stationary is stable.

Inner sarcasm is the dreamer's mood. Both obvious and oblivious to the shadow figures arrayed beyond him. Distanced by his own wish.

The dreamer walks in a world within a mind within a world. Pacing a worn symbolic stone that traces and dates passing time. Shadows here reflect the passage of those in the world where lies the mind sleeping. Dreaming.

Overlapping dreams amaze his extended senses. Questions, searches and the continuance of existence ripple together and provide the substance that fills the dreamer's consciousness.

Dreams where answers seem more ethereal than the shadows of outside reality. Hence the dreamer's impatience.

His questioning nature drives him. Searching for facts beyond his current perceptions. Near the edge of his senses dangles the bait. Goading his steps after premonitions of fulfillment, intent on capturing the elusive wind that mocks his sensibilities.

Where? The dreamer cries, knowing he paces a circle because the answers lie within. How? The dreamer smiles, if he realized how, he would dream of other things and perhaps his impatience would ebb.

Shadows move and advance in the patterned steps of ritual. The dreamer watches them with grim distaste. He loathes their existence, for it necessitates his own circling passage.

Though dreaming he knows the shadows are symbolic. Representing those who surround him in the "real" world, his mimicry for outward show as well as the questioning his mind requires are the paces that have worn the stone.

Trends be damned; he thinks in idle frustration. He slowly attempts to scrape away at the inner side of the track as to begin an inward spiral. He knows it will surely lead to collapse, but he has a plan in mind.

The birth of a new year replaces the old, time and again, as the dreamer continues to wear down the stone that is himself. Shadows stop occasionally to stare at his digression and storms come more frequently overhead.

He realizes, absentmindedly, that he has waken and slept numerous times in his pacing but this consciousness seems separate from the rest. Persistently, he continues.

Further years pass as the erosion takes its toll. Even the mark of time is now apparent upon the stone, although it is still faint. Mainly it is the creeping spiral that fixes the eye.

Thoughts wander. The dreamer allows himself to muse over his aging body and maturing mind, over the shadows' behavior.

The years have brought many a passing observer who briefly views the dream and continues on. Reactions range from incomprehension to fear. However, this staggering procession is to be expected, the shadows have dreams of their own. His is but a passing curiosity to them.

Opposite these, dance shadows that he is unsure how to react to. Deep with intent concentration, they follow his path, with great interest. Shadows that mimic his movement, so becoming shadows of himself.

Should he acknowledge their protrudence into his dream? Should he show disgust or simply ignore them as being beneath his notice?

After deliberation, he realizes that his measured pace must continue, but assigns another part of his mind to deal with the interlopers. One by one they disappear but flicker in for a moment now and again, whether as a spectator or in concern he is not certain.

With each eroding footfall, a tone is sounded in the dreamer's mind, bringing recollection of emotions and understandings. These he greedily drinks, like a man dying of thirst will quaff the poisoned solution. It fills his stomach with a consuming fire; causing his thoughts at times to be feverish, but not incoherent. No, never incoherent. A shred of cool detached sanity dedicates itself to neutralizing the constant feed of emotions and interpretations. Not destroying, just tempering the menagerie with logic.

The dreamer observes this with little more than a passing glance for to him it is simply a conditioned reflex. More important to him, his senses focus on how the passage of time is affecting his being and his chosen path.

His path is relatively constant, with its smooth, ever so slowly yielding stone. Yet the path must be watched. In the past, stumbles and even falls have happened due to a lack of vigilance. Shaken, sometimes badly, the dreamer staggered along until again his pace was the measured cadence of entropy.

And continued on he has. The dreamer still walks for an unknown duration of time. But the feel of the stubborn stone against his stubborn will has become more and more at home with the other, and has even formed a spirit of respect.

Still certain that his answers lie within, and certain that further years have yet to pass before he reaches his goal, the dreamer paces. Still occasionally impatient, still occasionally watched.

Proceeding with dread and anticipation. For one day, in some future time, the dream will end. One way or another, the dreamer will have his answers.