Snippet, with hopes:"Little Clow Reed Dreams"

[butterflydreaming]

Nothing more has come of this start, but I wish it would.

Little Clow Reed Dreams

 

1.Behind My Lidded Eyes

 

 

            I am a lucid dreamer.

 

            Before I could even write my name, I had already discovered the play-land of dreamtime.  I never argued with my mother about my appointed bedtime, because once I closed my eyes, I could do anything.  When I was very small, I only changed the dreams as they came: flying instead of falling or making the monsters run away from me.  Once I reached the age of reason, however, I was creating the monsters. The simple magics that Mother and Father were teaching me paled against the pyrotechnics that I could do in my dreamworld, where I was already an unparalleled sorcerer.

            I stopped detailing my dreams to my mother when I reached my developing years; there were questions that only Father could answer, and beyond those, all else was private.  Those dreams lightened the constant lessons that filled my days.  My parents were strict teachers who argued like Jesuits  over needle-fine points of magic and expected me to follow both paths at once.  Raised not to give preference, I was the one who would fuse the techniques of Orient and Occident, I was told.

            Our family was not social.  My only playfellows returned to the Ether when I woke.  I tried not to be lonely, since my will could not change my loneliness, and only succeeded in blurring the boundry between my waking and my dreaming.  By the time I had passed through adolescence and into manhood, I was a sorcerer of the first rank.  It became dangerous to do dream magic because I could literally cast spells in my sleep.

            Thus, it became my custom to direct my dreams towards whim and away from magic.  My parents succumbed to their long years when I was still a young man.  I was outside of the borders of Society due to both my shyness and my mixed blood, and I continued to keep to myself, which made dream-life more real than my waking-life.

            I dreamed of peculiar things, a mix of precognition and fancy, of experience and conjecture.  I began to spend my days seeking ingredients for that intoxicating cocktail, Dream, and found that I had become bold.  I traveled, aquiring both experience and an immense collection of books; I wrote my own studies, and sought a way to bring elements of my dreamworld into the physical world.  And I succeeded, first with my cards, and later, with my companions.  And yet, for the shear entertainment of it, I continued to dream. 

 

And this is what I dreamed.

 

Comments

[laurus-nobilis.livejournal.com]

I really liked it! :) I wish I could leave a more coherent review, but if I keep waiting till inspiration comes I won't review it at all, and we can't have that...

[laurus-nobilis.livejournal.com]

Oh, I remembered something else I wanted to say!

Have you read The Circular Ruins by Borges? Not exactly like this, but its about lucid dreaming, "making" people and the like. Thought you might be interested.