text: The sky is dark grey, overcast, and a strong breeze is through constantly. Almost all the time this breeze is blowing. Almost. You’re standing on a beach, but instead of sand it’s palm sized greyish and black rocks. It’s a steely grey, and in some areas, black ocean, constantly uneasy, always shifting. In the distance, waves break capped with a white foam over dark, obsidian covered rocks. On your own shore, where you stand, they alternate between gently lapping against the shore and breaking hard against the rocks, with a gentle lapping noise and a thunderish boom, respectively. As you turn around, there is a large house. It’s probably 3 stories high, and the house is a faded light blue now turned a greyish color, with white trim windows that likewise faded many years ago. Paint is peeling everywhere around the structure, and in some places it has weathered away entirely, leaving behind a dull grey coat. Huh. Years. The very thought of time on a spiritual, dream like plain of existence The thought trickles away. The house is facing you with a large black oak door. As you step up the creaking stairs and open the door, a wave of gentle heat comes out of the house, and you step inside the main area. Off to the right, down a gently lit corridor is the large living room. You hear the voices of a few dozen people from that direction. You step down the hall and enter into the living room. Your friends and family are all there, mixing between sitting on large plush couches and standing, drinks in hand talking with one another. As you step in, you notice a few other things. Pictures on the mantle, above the large fireplace are snapshots of your life. You and the guys, all 16 ish hiking through New Mexico. Your German Shepherd, Xena, sitting on the couch in your spot after you got up for a brief minute. You and the same group of guys all sitting around in a circle in camp chairs. In the photo, it’s dark, almost pitch black. You can only see it clearly because you remember it. You and your closest friends were sitting in camp chairs in the wee hours of the morning, in the middle of a shallow, but somewhat quickly moving creek. Some of you are stacking rocks by the red light of a headlamp, quietly discussing life and how things have been for each other. You glance at the final picture on the mantle. It’s you, comfortably sitting on the futon of your office. In front of you is your dad, and to his right your older brother. They’re playing one of your favorite video games. You shift your attention to the crowd. You recognize your best friend, favorite family members, and role models, just to name a few. You look slightly off to the right, and adjacent to the large, cozy living room is a smaller kitchen. It has more people, likewise conversing. You talk for a few minutes and catch up, some you apologize to for not keeping in touch. You move on into the hallway across the living room. There is a large, carpet covered staircase, descending into the basement. In the basement you find your childhood group of friends. The boys. The lads. Your favorite people to hang out with as a kid - brothers in all but blood. Some of them are playing pool. Some of them are sitting on large couches or arm chairs, a dlfew are laying in the floor. One of them is sitting on a large window sill, made of white washed stone, wrapped comfortably in a blanket, watching Monty Python like a few of the others. Those who aren't watching Monty Python are playing a bastardized version of pool - instead of using the pool cues they are rolling the cue ball with their hand at specific pattern of the opposing team. You study the man sitting on the window sill, in the blanket. He looks very familiar. Almost like...you. in fact, it is you, you realize upon further inspection. He is, well, you are looking back at you with the sort of a relaxed absent - mindedness of someone at peace, comfortable and amused by his friends. You hear a vague thudding noise, and the world begins to shimmer out of view. First the walls disappear, and then the people, the couches, the room, and it's all....white. then it fades to black and suddenly, you begin to hear the beach again. You open your eyes, despite never having closed them and you're back on the beach. Then a snap permeates your state of unconsciousness. You awaken, and you are in the world. The real one, that is. You realise you must have been dreaming - but what the dream means you don't know. You only know that occasionally, as you drift off to sleep you can hear the crashing of those waves...over, and over and over...until it fades to a gentle lapping noise again.