Inner Child
The flying dreamers are freer thinkers than many but there are
others more in harmony still, those that fly, soar then stop completely
still, consider for a while, then shoot straight down through where the
ground would have been were they awake, knowing full well that the normal
rules of waking life do not apply in the Dream World – these she
calls the Semi-Lucid; they aren’t fully aware of dreaming but they
don’t stick to normal physical laws. There are still others that
are able to move from one point to another in Dream Space without moving,
simply appearing where they want, fully aware of their dream state and
manipulating it for their own amusement or to alter the course of their
dream. Still there are those who take it a step further, teetering on
the edge of total reality; aware of Dream Space and other people’s
Motes, able to enter and react with their dreams, skipping from one to
the other but, unlike the Dream Fairy, they would inevitably get caught
up in the plot of an intricate dream and stay there till morning.
Treacletops knew that these dreamers didn’t need her help,
for everyone to attain enlightenment she had to work on the first kind,
dreamers following their plate-like patterns of never-ending cycles; Treacletops
had to set them free from the mundane and obscurity so they could soar
with the emancipated souls of Dream Space. She fixed her attention on
a Mote orbiting an invisible, insignificant point some distance away,
held her arms out wide and flew towards it; Treacletops pushed her little
fairy nose upon the surface of the Mote to take a look inside, it was
a typical case, she pressed her hands together as if in prayer then pushed
them through the surface and forced an opening in the Motes silvery skin,
just enough for her to easily slip though so it closed neatly behind her
delicate feet.
“Hello there, isn’t the sky beautiful today?” A girl
interrupted the man trudging down a grey street.
“No it isn’t,” Tony replied, “It’s awful,
grey and dismal.”
“Yes I know, that’s why I asked; ‘Isn’t the sky
beautiful today?’ You see, it usually is. It’s not too often
you see grey skies around here.” The girl smiled at the young man,
he didn’t smile back.
“It used to be sunny once, but that was a very long time ago; before…”
Tony thought for a moment as a crow slewed gently overhead on the warmer-than-usual
breeze, then plopped onto a tree-branch with a ‘caw’. It hurt
his eyes to look at the bird, the clouds made them ache like the sun was
shining through them without the accompanying rays.
The pigtailed girl smiled at the crow then looked at Tony.
“Where are you heading anyway; can I come along?”
“I’m going to buy bread, I made some soup but I have no bread;
can’t have soup without bread!” Tony insisted.
The girl walked silently beside him along the street for a while then
took off the winter coat she’d been wearing, just threw it away
over a wall; Tony watched as the coat disappeared then looked at the girl
questioningly.
“It’s a little hot for that kind of clothing, don’t
you think?” She asked while wiping a tiny bead of sweat from her
cheek with a smile.
“Do you know, I think you’re right; it really is quite warm,”
Tony went to remove his own winter coat but found is already missing,
only his green t-shirt remained with his favourite jeans below that and
nothing on his feet. He wondered if he ought not to be wearing shoes outside
on the street, though the pavement did seem very soft, like he was floating
just above it.
“Well, are you going to stay down there for ever?” The girl
giggled and looked down at him from where she was flying loops in the
air.
“I can’t fly like that, it’s impossible…”
Was it really that impossible though? The tiniest glimmer of a glistening
memory touched his lower spine, ran all the way up to his shoulders and
tingled down his arms.
“Just hold them out like this,” laughed Treacletops, “and
follow me, wheeeeeeeeee!” She flew off into the sky and Tony soared
after her, he was a child again at last in his dreams. Treacletops waved
goodbye and seemed to disappear as she pushed her way back into free Dream
Space; Tony had been given back his dreams and another soul was once again
set along the right path to freedom.
It isn’t all that easy to guess at the passage of time in the waking
world when you’re working in Dream Space, but Treacletops was fairly
sure that she hadn’t been in very long, not long enough for Junaetenpops
to have arrived back home, so she searched around for another Mote lost
in tedium.
 The
Dream Fairy headed for the glowing Entrance to Dream Space; consciousnesses
paired up with sympathetic Motes, those dreams that fitted their frame
of mind. Some sparks of consciousness raced confidently from the shining
Entrance to their desired Mote, while others were spewed into Dream Space
with the same energy as the rest, but settled into a moody, shy milling;
like uncertain dancers without partners skirting the edges of a ballroom
in a nineteenth century novel. All of them looked so beautiful, serenely
charming; if only they could see themselves the way Treacletops saw them
– divine spiritual luminescence bursting forth upon Dream Space,
ready to receive thoughts and ideas that drifted on Akashic breezes, like
microscopic butterflies having a life of their own but subject to higher
forces beyond their wing’s command.
The Space of Dreams is not the hollow vacuum that fills the emptiness
between the planets and stars in waking life; but a teaming soup of knowledge
and streaming invention that is both leaked and absorbed through the shiny
surfaces of the Motes as the eloquent consciousnesses play out their fantasies
and dreams inside, unaware of how their emotions and experiences influence
the movement of knowledge, ideas and other Motes through Dream Space.
Teacletops felt a little pity for the consciousnesses that stuck close
to the Entrance, myopically clinging to their waking lives as if they
were the only real existence; the Dream Fairy could do nothing for those
souls until they let go and found themselves a Mote to dream in, with
which to intertwine. She smiled at the others who appeared to have Motes
hovering around the Entrance already waiting for them; like a taxi waiting
to whisk them off to far away places.
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