Who Was He. Who Is He.
Last night I had a dream.
I floated above my bed & debarked into a majestic realm of pinnacles, veneered with glistening white snow.
There's snow everywhere.
It's kind of an edge of a cliff or something.
A high summit, camouflaged with mystic veils of obscure clouds.
First I see myself walking on the snow,
The sun's just rising... kinda 6 a.m.
It's glittering in the snow & it's bewitching.
But there is a chilly wind blowing..
I can feel in my sleep.
Then I come across some stony steps, ruined, & there I stop.
I see a man, sitting, brooding, reflecting & smiling.
His hair is matted & his garment is coarse.
His mien is tranquil & his tone is lucent.
His beam is enchanting as the Aurora behind him & his countenance is serene as amity...
"Enunciation wasn't the way we communed for utterance is a taboo if you seek Renunciation."
& when the mascot of illusion seems to have waned, like the digit of aeon, faintly overt, my conundrums have faded too..
I sit in front of him, as if in a trance.
He applies some dust like stuff on his arms.
"The Space He Covers He Says It's Night..
& The Space He Leaves He Says It's Day."
Now I just feel an ethereal presence
& it calms me down..
I have seen in my dream...
Am sitting in front of Him.