chauffeur with a car

Bridge in construction, that’s what I read from the banner every time I go to Animus. I sleep for some dreaming and just then start the path, flying low until finally I get to a cave: an entrance says Thoughts, and due to its size, not so high to me at least, I’ve got to stop flying.

I take a walk: my steps don´t settle enough because the soil is soft, like sand or mud, I can´t notice. I feel myself willing to keep up; there’s no rush, time in dreaming is patient, so I just wonder with my hands and sense some texture, grab a little of it and try to see, to take a closer look: it was gray but out of my knowledge. I could imagine that’s how moon sand might look like but it is because what I’m carrying in my bag (I forgot to say I carry a bag every time I dream) I usually fill this backpack with names: I like to think I dream with real people but really I ignore, or maybe I’m the ignored one, I haven´t figured it out the scope of my desires. For now, let’s move on over this soft and gray (neutral) soil. Yes, because it is free from any judgment.

I keep walking; see some questions spread and several answers hanging: doubts of my reality, of my certain future. Future is not uncertain, uncertain are facts when they’re sudden and it depends, because sometimes Present leaves pieces as a warning that a bit of a whole will be completed and that the time for awakens is more sensed than in dreams’; therefore, impatience might come from outside, unlike this patience, that comes within.

I read When, Why, Because as well, but the rest are just ellipsis.

I open the bag and grab some pronouns; the first clue for the questions spread. Doubt is like opportunity; both have issues with people just like the names I bring onto my dreams. It’s not necessary to say them loud, the voice of the dreams has its own language, anyone who sees someone sleeping knows it when this asleep talks; it is some kind of no translatable dialect.

I start wondering inside the cave: why she? When you? Why we? The wind blows and pushes the answers, I assume a You towards me is an I, so the answers lies on me but I don´t know what to say. I check the bag again but get sort of nervous; I’m afraid not to pick the right name (yes, random and chance are strange while you dream on) I finally prefer the doubt and wake up…

Nothing special, just a day full whys and whens, for example: why so much traffic, so many critics, so stupid fundaments? There’s not a single because for any of my whys but, well, let´s wait until tonight…

It is said (better than known) Love reflects itself in many ways, for instance: a metaphor related with time, about love I’m talking, might be how long the beloved one takes to reach your eyes at knowing you’re waiting at the entrance to her home. If it’s the same home for both, well, I’m not sure (I guess there’s more than a why) Reasons varies and love (as I just said it) reflects in many ways.

I was a lucky; I could fly a little more before going back to the cave, before running away from widow questions and orphan answers. I go on, open the bag; Animus is a bridge, a bridge inside a cave: this big is this cave, these many are my doubts. I wake up…

I forgot to say I’m a chauffeur with a car of his own: take me there, pick me up, and yes, just when I was about to pick her up, Boom! I crashed the car. Another day with whys…

Moon sand got wet but hands were no longer my path, I’m barefoot, one doesn´t know how’s looking while dreaming. I sense a shore, a silvered sea with some few waves. I stepped on from answers to windows, windows without transparency, like frames, like a gallery, a gallery which frames look like stars and as stars enlighten. I see some like my face, yes, through these windows. I didn’t just see my face through it, for example: I saw myself stroking the legs of an important name I always carry in my bag; it is the name of my present, a present which will be future, for now. Through other window I saw me as a child; as an animal through another, an unknown animal. There’s a windows, old, blurred; the texture of the weather is strange but I figured it out by a pair words written with a finger on it, just like someone else would have been here before, someone who got bored, tired. The words were: Silence and Oblivion. This, along with the questions, looks like an afterthought. Since there’s some antagonisms in the bag, I may do some conjectures: why don´t I forget? (For oblivion) Or when this silence? Because I remember you, and from the noise I… I wake up…   

There is a certain feeding for waking up on a bad mood when sleeping with doubts; some people dream with things they can’t have, some others with things they can’t understand. That explains the reflects in the morning, those moments in front of the mirror trying to accept ourselves, to accept that there’s just a shaving machine, a makeup set. The day promises to be the same, but today I don´t work, I’m without the car, so I’m just taking a walk…

Curiously doubts fade away with the steps, and unlike dreams, there’s sort of a comprehension while keeping up on the sidewalks. Perhaps it’s just oblivion and silence, and next dream remember…

It was a beach at night, a beach inside a cave with moon sand and a bridge, and the windows, the words, the memories, everything making noise while I go on, and I’m again in the same dream. Probably pronouns are no longer needed because the only one here is me, it means I am: I’m who walks and doubts due to sensations and uncertainties of everyday and there’s no more sand, nor sea for my steps. There’s just a banner at the end of this path: Bridge in construction.

Versión en español: aquí