drdangles

As I lay reading, I open the book to the old familiar chapter. This chapter is always engaging and always fertile ground for fresh ideas. Every time I read the chapter it changes. Words have always moved, and Ideas have always changed. It is as if I am reading from an ancient magical text.
Yellowed pages move fluidly in my hands as a familiar handshake welcoming me home. I ponder the significance of this. Wondering if this is how The Clouds of Descent would feel in my hands. Its amate pages cracking in my hand, each page carrying me into a new world, each chapter a new life.
Like a kite carried upward and away from all the worries and doubts. I find myself in the desert surrounded by golden sand. Heat waves rise from the ground licking at the sky. There, on this desolate plain, a man without a face approaches. He beckons me to follow. I realize he will take me away from all that I hold dear to me. I begin to cry.
Tears pour down my face and form a puddle in the gleaming sand. A hand reaches down. It is the hand of he who beckoned. The faceless man gathers my tears in his rough, sun-dried palms. Gleaming orb that it now is, he places my tears in his pocket. Thus keeping it out of sight. All of my woes are gone.
I am still unsure. I fall beneath the sand. Inside the caves bellow the desert I claw and grope my way toward unending pain. Deliberate and carefully the faceless one pulls me up several times. I am unwilling to follow and return to my pain.
Seeking the orb. Cave walls become the seam of the pocket of him that beckons. I seek my tears. I seek the orb, which he hath hidden. Each time he pulls me up. I just can’t let go. If I could he would take me to the temple. Once there I would gather with the group of travelers. Our souls would be carried away. Far from the deserts heat and the faceless man. For now I must follow my guides counsel.
He offers me the orb. I know what must be done. The orb must be broken into pieces. Smashing the orb in my palm it breaks with ease. Shards fall like glistening snowflakes of glass. Their beauty is that they are all that I was and nothing of what I soon will become.
Once at the temple, my guide leaves. He is not welcome to leave the scorching sand. I enter through the front archway. It’s dark material soft and cold on my hand. Archaic images flash and change on the arches strong parallel beams. Once inside I am wrapped in light and carried away.
I awaken.