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Author Topic:   This is a beautiful story
AmberVonSchriek
unregistered
posted October 05, 2002 03:41 AM           Edit/Delete Message
Once upon a time...

there was a dream and a child lived within it. The dream was so unbelievably large that even in your mind you could not fly across it. And still it kept expanding like an immeasurable, shimmering bubble crowned by a shining rainbow. Outside the dream, in a land called Reality to be precise, there lived a human being. You could only reach Reality by performing the seven deeds after being born. And those where called learning, loving, suffering, savouring, working, fighting and dying. As opposed to the dream the laws of nature apply in Reality. And those are a pretty crazy powers.
So what did the child do?
It played. And was showered with ideas like falling stars. A shower made of many sparkling things. Everything in the dream came into existence by the child's play with these things. They were the building blocks of its world and they kept it growing steadily.
But where did these things come from?
They came from the human being. Unknowingly he was the child's envoy. Why it was just like that and no different is another story that will doubtlessly be told at some stage, if it hasn't been told already a long time ago.
However, let's return to the envoy.
He drew his ideas from Reality and sent them over to the dream. There they were transformed into wonderful, golden toys. That is the reason the dream grew continuously and the rainbow with it and the envoy stood enraptured by the reflection of this magnificent play of colours. He called it fantasy. But it was the everlasting.
Now there was a problem.
You see, nothing is for free in Reality. Everything there has its price. Which is okay and keeps everything level. You pay to learn, to love, to suffer, to savour, to work, to fight and to die. You pay for pleasure and pain, for experiences and exemptions, for everything. In the beginning the costs seem low, laughable even, but in time they climb to dizzy heights.
What the envoy once would have given the child for free without hesitation was now more and more difficult to come by. And so the desire arose in him to keep the few, the dear to himself instead of passing them on to child in the dream, who would only play with them and return nothing but the radiance of a rainbow - an exhilaration that quickly subsided. How easy it would be on the other hand to make yourself comfortable with all these beautiful things in Reality. You could put them right in front of you and look at them carefully or you could even touch them. And when you got tired you could go to sleep assured that they would still be there in the morning. So from now on the envoy kept everything he once would have passed on to the child for himself.
And the dream started to fade.
It faded like a crystal slowly going blind. Its shining crown - the beaming rainbow - dissolved and burnt out to white ashes that were carried away into oblivion. But the envoy did not notice a thing. Since he did not share his treasures anymore, he could no longer see the dream and recognize what was happening to it. Now and then he thought he had heard the child crying out. Sometimes it sounded as if it was weeping. "But there is no child," he said to himself. He no longer realized how much he was lying to himself and why.
One day the child's voice died and from then on the envoy lived undisturbed in his cozy house among all his brilliant ideas that had congealed into great and heavy folios, dark, gold-framed paintings and insect collections full of pierced butterflies. Sometimes he looked at the large painting of a rainbow on the opposite wall and faintly remembered a child in some dream. "What a nice child it was, what a nice dream." But his memories withered just as much as he did himself. Could they have ever been real?
Years went by and the envoy got old, very old. He forgot a lot and was in doubt of the rest. He tried to imagine what it would be like to die someday. One time his tired look passed over the painting of the rainbow which, overshadowed by all the long and uniform years, lent against the wall in a corner of the room. His eyes rested on the painting for some time without knowing why. Was it the dust all over it? Was is the gold that came off the frame? Was it the enigma of the colours that stayed unrevealed by the dark, lifeless canvas? What had been on the painting in the first place anyway?
His thoughts formed a word, a strange, distant word that he had lost long ago in the dark caverns of his memory and that now fluttered in front of him like a confused bat. The word was called Hope. "Yes, there is still hope," something suddenly whispered deep inside of him. Startled the envoy listened more closely into the inexorably returning silence. It was the child that had spoken. But since he considered the voice to be his own, he could not understand who was meant by "hope". And so his last chance passed. And when, at last, he died there was no place for him to go.

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Foxxy
Knowflake

Posts: 273
From: Toronto
Registered: Aug 2002

posted October 05, 2002 04:52 AM     Click Here to See the Profile for Foxxy     Edit/Delete Message
Wow

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taj
Knowflake

Posts: 530
From:
Registered: Aug 2002

posted October 05, 2002 12:58 PM     Click Here to See the Profile for taj     Edit/Delete Message
amber,

that is beautiful!
thank you.

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Randall
Webmaster

Posts: 25287
From: Columbus, GA USA
Registered: Nov 2000

posted December 26, 2002 11:33 PM     Click Here to See the Profile for Randall     Edit/Delete Message

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"Never mentally imagine for another that which you would not want to experience for yourself, since the mental image you send out inevitably comes back to you." Rebecca Clark

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