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t is a Tower of Silence I see before me.   Very old it  is  - even ancient - and mossed over on one side.   Structured of crumbling limestone rocks,  its  heaviness  seems to sag with age.  

   Above me there is a sky both dark and light, constantly changing, churning dark clouds with  patches of clear sky like a troubled stomach.  Fits of rain spot a  sunset hiding itself,  leaving bolts of yellow rays abandoned in their flight from a dying sun.

×~¥vxÑxv¥~×  

  The old man had died.   Now he was carrion for a whirlpool of birds falling down to  converge on the top of the tower.   Now will they devour the old man,  returning his energy to the long cycle. As his body disappears behind the wall,  his soul travels far.   I can feel him come and go in my heart.   He is making a journey and preparing a path for me. 

  Darkness takes hold of this world and I walk away over to a thatch hut.  What is here?   I know only that I should be here now.   It is not a bad place.  Warm light shines through a tiny window next to a thick oaken door scarred with age.   Without knocking I enter a small room; warm and cozy it is,  almost stuffy.   Taking off my Mackintosh overcoat,  I look around. 

   Noticing the rough and primitive setting I am in I wonder if this dream is caste in ancient times.  I  abandon the idea when I realize my surroundings are illuminated by a  strange cathode ray tube affixed to  the ceiling.  It is a strange light which surrounds me now;  as on a gray day when there are no shadows, so shines or does not shine this light now.  A light which has no warmth of its own, but warms everything from inside.  It makes everything to glow in a natural but slightly metallic hue.  Yet this light of itself  has no visible light.  Strange and wondrous this dream may be! 

  See, here an old man is instructing a little boy. They work together on (for lack of a better word) a computer in the corner while an old woman weaves a tartan I have never seen on a shuttle loom.

 It feels like home. 

  Later, after a good dinner of roast meat and bread, I take a torch and head for the ancient’s cave.  Without hesitation I enter it, for I am searching for his book among the rabble of stones and personal effects strewn all about.  There, under a large rock I see the corner of the book.   I rummage around for something I can use to pry the stone away, for it is heavy, but I can not find anything suitable. 

 What is this coming? A small gray kitten wanders in from the mouth of the cave.  He begins to speak to me.   He is telling  me this: that  to possess the book,  I must first understand the rock.  

  Now gentle reader, what did this mean?  A riddle or a truth it is.   The kitten says I should spend my time traveling underground to visit the ancient instead of trying to get the book.  Having thus counseled me, he bounces  down a nearby tunnel, bidding me to follow.  

   I take the torch and peer into the darkness to discover his path.  There, far ahead I see him  as he turns around to see if I am following,  his two eyes shining suddenly from the deep like tiny specks of green fire. 

   “Wait up,” I beckon,  but the kitten turns and nimbly slips further down the passage and out of my view.  Alone now,  I wonder if I should turn around or continue.  Since I am unfamiliar with the darkness ahead of me, I judge it better to return by a way I am familiar with.   I turn to go back the way I came -- but see!  There on the ground near my foot a shiny object catches my eye.  It is a jewel from the collar of the kitten.  Taking the stone, I put it in my pocket before I turn to leave. 

   I know that in the darkness behind me the kitten is watching.  Perhaps I should reconsider.  At the least I should return the bright jewel to the kitten, for I know it belongs to him.   Sensing that I am changing my mind, the kitten begins speaking to me, and now he is different --  more calm he is, and thoughtful besides being as large as a man and more mature in looks. 

   “I thank you for following me and not turning back," he says to me.  " It is you and your willingness to go forward that will make a difference.  This cave is long and full of mystery, terrors unimagined,  but they all are of your own making.   Nothing can harm you but your own belief that it may do so.  Herein you create your own terror or make your own wonders.  I cannot tell you what the end is, but remember the love the ancient one has for you and the well wishing of those you left at home.  Strange and wondrous things there be ahead of you here, and nothing but ghosts behind you.”

×~¥vxÑxv¥~

t is a dream, and I awaken.  But what is a waking from a dream but to be found in another?  I dream within a dream, and set aside one to touch another.

   See!  Here is the old man, now living.  He  embraces me and says,  “Go, follow the path, make a new way to come to the end.   It is reward enough to be different.” 

Such is the dream I remember.  ×~¥ÌÉvxÑxvÌÉ¥~×