On the Edge of Dreams

Discussion in 'Writers Forum' started by shaman sun, Feb 9, 2006.

  1. shaman sun

    shaman sun Member

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    Prologue:
    "each species has an imagination, does it not? a story, a
    tale to live out, each in its own way?
    your flower has a different legacy than the butterfly's."

    Chapter 1: Beginnings and Endings

    The morning stretched far and wide, bathing itself in the spring sun. I had made my way to the park for a casual stroll, as it was a Saturday, and my work for the journal was satisfying enough for a break. ​

    A small path winded to and fro, sinking gradually into the forest. Pavement became stone, stone became dirt, and dirt became grass. The path was now a wild thick. Still, I felt the most peculiar urge to wander further.​

    Poison ivy and thorned underbrush, the latter snagged my jeans and fleece. The path narrowed and weaved through thicker woods, until I came across a tiny clearing. The leaves had fully blossomed by now, and so daylight shimmered down onto a vibrant blanket of green moss. I stopped and took in the place. It was so untouched, so pure in and of itself.​

    Sit, if you like. A voice seemed to say.​

    I looked around quickly, feeling embarrassed and surprised. Who was that?They probably thought I was some nature freak, wandering this far . . . ​

    Nobody. No one? They must be hiding.​

    Hiding where? You're looking at me.

    What?​

    Yes, you are looking at me. Though, you aren't seeing me.

    I stumbled back. Who on Earth was playing games in the middle of the woods?​
    "You'd best leave, this isn't very funny. Haven't you got something better to do other than bother someone who's looking for some peace and quiet?"​

    If this is a game, why not play along? I do no pranks, yet the manner of my greeting surprised you.

    The voice seemed calm, serene, certainly not like a prankster!​

    Certainly not, please have a seat.

    I didn't know what to do. Was it listening into my mind? How? Why?​

    Have a seat. I'll explain.

    A wind suddenly passed through, striking a beam of light on a mound of moss by the stream ahead. I blinked once or twice to be sure of what I was seeing. A perfect circular beam, as if the light were frozen. This wasn't an eye trick.​
    As said before, no tricks. Is this suitable?

    I barely managed to spit out, "U-uhm," before hurrying to my seat, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy. I wasn't sure if I was awake at this point. This certainly had to be a dream.​
    Dreams are peculiar things, perhaps we'll talk about them... " The voice began with a playful tone, "...But first, I would like to most formally introduce myself..."
     
  2. shaman sun

    shaman sun Member

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    For now, I would appreciate it if you would call me by the humble name of 'Spirit'. Names are not important in this situation, but words appear to be the only way to express what must be understood.

    I sat in complete and utter silence, waiting for the dream to end. I must have fallen and hit my head somewhere . . . Way back at the beginning. Or maybe when the pavement had ended? Ouch. Maybe I hit my head on pavement. I must be hurting.​

    Not at all. You are by all definitions, 'awake'.

    A cool wind curved around the trees and hit me in the face, sending chills across my body and making every nerve I had aware that I was wide awake. I became frightened.​

    Just a little wind.

    Okay, so, now what? I'm game, why the hell not.​

    I have something to show you, and that is perhaps the only way to explain this most unusual circumstance. You see, sir, you have been chosen. This is by no means a higher order of the cosmos. You are not speaking with some divine being. I am not Mother Mary, nor am I any prophet or angel or saint. I am not a god or deity. I am not anything that can be defined by the world you understand. Thus, I am Spirit.

    "All-right. So, um, what's that mean? Why are you talking to me?"​

    Your species is undergoing a transition, if you will. I will not be referring to it directly or by any means with particulars. I have no intention of making this another religion. There is no time for that. I am here to show you something, and I am hoping that you will understand it before you show it to those you know and love. It is not a message of truth, of peace, of divinity. Consider it as this . . .

    I listened, my eyes darting around the woods. Where should I look? I was either going mad or . . . Well, whoever this was, they weren't making themselves easy to talk to. Eye contact helps.​

    A shudder of the underbrush made me do a one-eighty. Nobody was there, but what suddenly became visible was a young tree.​

    This is you.

    What? The tree?​

    You're a quick one, yes.

    Okay, so it's me. . . Um . . .​

    You are no greater or lesser than that old oak tree beside you. In fact, you are a smaller version of that oak tree. Your roots are not as thick, and their grip certainly not as strong. Your branches are nimble and weak, your leaves few. Yet, you are not below me. Under the right conditions, you will in all probability succeed in taking the old Oak's place, right here, after it has returned to nurture the Earth with its death.

    I just stared.​

    Do you understand?

    You're going too quick. I'm not getting any of this. I want to go home. This is by far the most unbelievable event that has ever happened to me. I'm afraid that . . . If you want me to sit here and listen to whatever you need to tell me, you're going to have to prove I'm not going mad.​

    Well, easy enough then. The Spirit said.​

    The forest suddenly sighed, a breeze escaping through the branches.​

    This is not an exhibition, but I may give you but one hint that you are still sane. . . And very much awake.

    Uh, shoot.​

    Behind that tree. . . Another oak was shimmered by the light. Behind it is something you will recognize. Consider it a mirror of your younger self. If I am wrong, and if it is nothing, then I suggest that you walk straight out of this place. Head right back from where you came, and never return . . .

    I sat there for a moment, contemplating, confused. The rationality was simple: Prove you're not mad and stay here with this 'visitor', or . . . Walk away. ​

    Maybe I was afraid, afraid that for once in my life something amazing was happening, something supernatural. Not since childhood had I believe in magic. Now, I was given a second chance. A fantasy, a myth had sprung up around my life and sent me into a whole other world of possibility. The Earth was seeming so entirely vibrant again! No more cold math, no more rational intellectualism, no more dissection of nature. No! I was confronted with the enchanted world, breathing again, breathing that mystical essence long forgotten.​

    Weak-kneed, I stood up. Eyes set on the shimmering light before me, I made my way to the tree. . .​
     
  3. shaman sun

    shaman sun Member

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    This is something I've been working on for a while. I started it about a year ago and have accumulated about twenty pages so far. This is finally somewhat of an organized version, the last two posts being brand new. Beginnings are difficult! I think I have at least something here. All right, so we continue . . .
     
  4. mehriels

    mehriels Member

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    nice start. very interesting piece.
     
  5. Barbuchon

    Barbuchon Member

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    it's freaking cool man! I very enjoied your piece of work.
     
  6. shaman sun

    shaman sun Member

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    I'm glad everyone likes it :)


    There'll be more available. I'm making a website and a bulk of it will be available to read. Other pieces of writing will be offered, too.
     
  7. Gypsy_girl

    Gypsy_girl Member

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    I really like this story; great atmosphere, really carriies you along with it! :D keep it up :)
     
  8. AlfredNewman

    AlfredNewman Member

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    you need to open your mind a bit more- not trying to be a dick- trying to lighten you up like the shaman sun. You shouldnt be embarresed for hearing voices, i have em every day when i go hiking. Dont look around, who gives a fuck, and id sure as hell rather be a nature "freak" than a city fuck- Since when has nature become freakish?? Our world is fucked, infested with rotten humans- we need to learn to love mother nature more than matireals and easy city life. Fuck. Love. Peace.
     
  9. AlfredNewman

    AlfredNewman Member

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    Wheres your will to be weird man- shit- open your minds people, we can organize, create a revolution- a new wave of people, because just think- if our generation organizes to a peaceful community, we will one day be running this country- love everyone guys, get along, and fuck eachothers brains out- and for all you drug junkies out there- try try try, but never abuse them, dont get addicted just do em for enlightenment, dont rely on your highs to have fun

    L-eagalize
    S-piritual
    D-iscovery
     
  10. shaman sun

    shaman sun Member

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    Well, I think you missed the point. This is a fictional work, and foremost this first chapter is about breaking free from the imposed limitations of society. It's about bringing back the enchantment, the mystery in life, and letting go of that alienated perspective of nature.

    It's good to have fun, but our problems can't be solved by just enjoying ourselves. We have to help others enjoy themselves too. That takes dynamic intelligence, action, compassion, the will to understand and explore, to raise one's consciousness to a more integrated perspective. That's what this story is about. On a side note, hallucinagens and other substances are fun, but they aren't the only sources of enlightenment. The greatest source is ourselves, and the greatest channel for that understanding is through our spirit, our minds and bodies being the tool to express that divinity as art, as life.

    With that being said, I would like to let this river flow and share it with you. But, as a reminder, by creating this, I'm on no pedestal, nor is the "Spirit" character. The teacher and student are interchangeable - necessarily. We learn and teach, one cannot exist without the other. This is inspiration, not ego dancing. There's a difference.
     
  11. White Scorpion

    White Scorpion 4umotographer

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    Today, and I mean this without patronizing, I learnt something from you, Shaman Sun. You are a very tolerant person.
     
  12. ayahuasca

    ayahuasca Member

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    this is already an amazing story. i would love to hear more!!
     
  13. shaman sun

    shaman sun Member

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    There it was, nestled between the creeping roots of the Oak. Comfortably resting, a wildflower had sprouted. It was of the clover kind. I stared blankly, then looked around for anything else.



    There wouldn’t be anything else. That clover is for you to see.



    “What does this have to do with me? A clover? I can’t recall it having significance. When I was young and played outside, they covered my yard. They were just about everywhere, but . . .



    But yes, everywhere. Tiny blossoms that were trampled on, ripped out of the ground, ignored, overlooked as part of the repetitive layout of your environment. What more could they be?



    I thought for a moment, picking up on the sarcasm. This “Spirit” could be sarcastic?



    Please, focus on the flower. What does it mean?





    The idiom, “Be in clover” suddenly resounded through me. As a child, I had lived without cares, without worries and conflicts. I was no perfect child. The attitude of life was towards play and away from work. Only in my early adult life had I come to understand that saying, the meaning and symbol of this flower was not just to be carefree, but to develop, grow, to rise up in the cracks of life and blossom.



    And is that not what you yearn for?



    I have, I do.



    This is a symbol. A lifetime of meaning wrapped up in one simple state of being. This clover is your life. It is not your ideal, because it exists before your mind. It is not your wish, because it has been granted before you were born. You have passionately yearned for life, for growth, yet you are bound in your cage. All of your years you have taken steps to reach this state, this rooted place in which you may bathe in sun and rain, rest in moon and darkness. How could you not see that it was right beneath your feet? The very ground you stood upon was what you were looking for... A forgetful flower that does not know it is already rooted in that state of prospering, a sleepy blossom that has fallen into a nightmare, yet all the while, it dances in the wind and soaks in the earth.



    I sat down again. Could this be a delusion? If it was, I would have to be a part of it. I would have to remain. My hands trembled, and my heart ached, listening, introspecting. I was terrified now, because I realized I had found a mirror to peer in and rediscover myself. Whether it was made by my own delusions or not was of least importance.








    I reached out to touch the clover, feeling its essence. You were what I have been looking for, I thought. Have you always been this close?
     

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