So, you tell me what is true.
You give me fact.
And evidence thereof.
I ask you: What is true?
For if it is my own dream, what else would you say?
In my dream, in the depths of my thinking soul, would I see and believe no less?
Would I touch and see and hear and feel? Would I taste the sweet nectar of love and humor, respect and attention?
Would I see the magic of the universe, of my loves?
Of course, be the answer yes. For it is my dream.
And were it my nightmare, would I see you, and all, as uncaring and selfish, devoid of the warmth of heart and soul. Would I feel the stings of arrows, launched to pierce my being, with torment and insignificance, unworthy of food or water, attention or love…not even given the grace of a full breath?
And still that answer be yes, for it is my nightmare.
You tell me of the troubles of the world, the failings of others and suffering of the innocent, as readily as you tell of happiness and good fortune, and perhaps you dwell on the negative.
But don’t you see? Can’t you see that it may well be illusion? It is illusion, and it forever will be as such.
No proof is valid, no evidence clear.
For if this all is of my making, it is as it should be.
And I revel in it all. I drink it in as cool spring water on a hot day………as warm soup to the chilled, and a hug for the lonely.
And truly, the day I fear most, is when I awake, to see it all was a dream, and that I am but a creature in the sea.