I sat at the ferry docks awaiting the next ferry home. Young couples walked about, many of them dressed in colourful costumes varied in their degrees of sexiness, absurdness and commonness. It was a festival but I was tired. The ferry docked and I walked aboard and upstairs; sitting at my usual seat at the back on the left hand side next to the open windows. A cool harbour breeze blew and I began reading my novel.
I dreamed a dream. In it I saw a mountain. A huge mountain that began with virgin forests and reached upwards to the clouds above which the straining eye or the imaginative mind could see, a snow capped peak and a tiny speck (a temple? a hut?); companion to it. Around the mountain stretched vast plains - a black sand plain to the left and yellowing grasslands to the right.
It called to me this place. The vision was a place but what it promised was journey. Oh how my unstill heart ached to climb that mountain and walk those plains! How I longed to search those lands for me; and also perhaps, She.
When I awoke, I created You and then set You free. You the traveller, You the loner, You the searcher. You were to wander where I could not. You, the shadow of I. You, the soul of me.
