Lying on my back in the grass. In the grass under a tree. Through the canopy of that tree, I could just see the blue sky. The sun also shone in between. A light breeze provided a playing shadow over my face from the moving leaves. I felt protected by the tree. Nothing could touch me; nothing could interrupt my dream.
I’d like to live under that roof for the rest of my life. The rhythm of the seasons and the protection under that canopy would make me aware of the intensity of this world.
Winter: I would shiver and freeze. Covered in snow. Icicles would hang off my face. At night, I’d be staring between the black cold foliage, at the freezing twinkling sky. I would see the blizzards passing by and I would retreat among the chilly roots and cover myself with the dry frozen leaves of the canopy.
Spring: Slowly I would thaw and awaken under a branch roof from which the leaves are sprouting. The sun awakens the earth and drives out the cold. The grass colors and the flowers escape the bud. Birds again provide a next generation with nests and eggs. Leaves become a roof again. I’m under there safely and protected on my back. The warmth of spring tickles my awakening dream.
Summer: The canopy is almost impenetrable to the summer light. I stare again at the barely visible blue sky. Day and night are being torn apart. The earth whispers with full life. I listen to the laughter of summer man. Mother Earth smiles. At night when the Earth cools down a bit and the stars flicker through the warm rising air, my thoughts rise with it. I rise above the canopy and look down on the sleeping earth. Isn’t every dream a translation of reality that we otherwise can’t perceive?
Autumn: The canopy changes color as my dreams change color. The flowers languish and leaves from my canopy form a swirling carpet under the tree. Through the disappearing canopy I see the graying sky. A sky covered with large menacing clouds, in which suddenly a storm rises. The canopy is roughly plucked by the storm. When the sun breaks through and the edges of the clouds turn silvery, its rays are chilly. If the world has turned red, gold and yellow due to autumn and the rain has soaked my face, I know that my dream rhythm will repeat itself.
If the earth loses its seasons, then I can no longer dream on my back under the canopy of my dream tree. Then life will be gone. Then this earth with my dream tree will have disappeared and been solved in infinite nothingness.
I wake up, lift my head while I look around. Hmm, how long have I been sleeping? I stretch and get up. It’s late and the sun’s about to set. I walk home slightly dazed. The world has found its reality.
