Monday, September 11, 2006

Flowers gathered in the morning; Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered by the evening: You can be me when I'm gone.

I have always been fascinated with words. I can't say exactly when it all started but I know that one day, I picked up a book, started reading and found a world of magic, of kings and queens, giants and dwarves, absent friends and lost loves, old gods and the season of mists. I have read words that were mysterious and like that brief glimpse of a hooded rider while staring out the window, I have looked into the heart of the writer, but only for a moment. I have wandered the soft places, the sunny plains of middle earth, run down twisting tunnels on distant worlds and even glanced at the lost kingdom of Atlantis. Words, for ever to captivate me.

So it came to pass that I chanced across the volumes of "The Sandman". It is at this point that I must shed a tear for those of you who will never discover or understand what the imagination is capable of. What it means to dream, even if it be a little dream. For some the gift was never given, for others the wisdom to comprehend denied, but for you, the fear of old gods long since devoid of power cages you. I am truly sorry.

For those who will never know, I will hazard a brief story but alas it is only a trinket of the treasures that lie awaiting in the world of dreams, the realm of the prince of stories, the land of "The Sandman".

They tell a story of Dream of the endless, who is the king of the dreaming, the place you go every time you leave the waking world. Dream has been imprisoned for almost eighty years and he returns to his realm to find that things have gone amiss. He must restore order in his kingdom, but to do so he needs his tools of power; a pouch of golden sand, a mask and a ruby. The sand was last in the possesion of a mortal, John Constantine. To retrieve the mask he must journey to hell and challenge a duke of the eighth circle, as for the ruby, well like I said, it is a brief story that I dare to relay, for there is no better way to know the story than from the prince of stories himself. So maybe one day I will tell you a story of myself, of my unknowing contest with a god and the wisdom gained, if it may be called that. Goodnight to you and the sweetest of dreams.

1 comment:

becky said...

rhyno you are beautiful, you should listen to yourself....

i dont know about the sandman and how his mind works but am amazed by the beauty and simplicity of words, the journeys they take us and the power they have to influence thought.... i love you dearly..... you should write us a story of you one day lakini not today because they'd be some missing chapters at the end. At that point in time that i'll never stop hoping for when your eyes will see for themselves the beauty of a King who still fights for good and esteems the truth, but more than that, who be crazy about you; it will make a great read.