The Sleep Orchard [Poetic Prose]

Oh…! come, come come come, come with me to my sleep orchard, where by the lofty trees, everything is possible—. I dreamt I had been dreaming for a hundred years, my second life you could say. In dreams I have learned I can penetrate all the variables within the universe all the variables within my orchard (the one I built out of dreams for twenty: no, perhaps longer, thirty years); even death, yes, yes even death. Little by little, by and by, in the orchard of my dreams you will find all that you need that that is what makes your desires and wishes. Light is at first, pale thin, but light, the light, will become bright the longer you stay: find your path; it takes you to the theater you want, want to stay in. Yes, yes, sleep has its own world, its own rewards. Just remember nightmares, they don’t belong here (that is why I come, they are never here, they fear this orchard). The boundaries, remember the boundaries—and pray, pray, to whomever you wish, but pray, the demons do not throw their volcanic ash on your theater. Pray, yes pray: I have no need to, simply because they do not come here, yes, it is a long journey—and the journeys you take will last as long as the orchard you make lasts. I plated these trees long ago, and watched them grow within my dream. And so let’s take the journey into the orchard together today, I feel so alive:

I found myself—I dreamt I was, I dreamt once more—Going into my dream deeper…I seen I was, it occurred I was in the orchard now (it takes awhile), the, the orchard…the nightmare, the nightmare demon was hidden behind an orchard tree, cast his salty magic spell: onto into the orchard of trees—impending Evil I did see…I saw it, a hideous sight (my second self, my hidden eye said: we have never seen one here before: and behind that hidden eye, was the silent soul, it said: the hidden eye, the third-eye, was fooled) this fiend—or, or demon, like to like; one is like the other, a muffled dream, a muffled dream, I tried to wake, struggling, ‘awake, awake!’ I told my second self, the hidden one behind the shelves of my mind, a second time: awake: soundless footsteps, broken messages, a haze was all I gave, I remained in my dream: and it was just beginning (dream, or nightmare to be).

I was with a king, doomed to certain death, in the dampness of his dungeons. I slept in the inner room between…between a dying bed, yes, yes, in dreams beds can die, in nightmares they lie (I in one bed, the bed dying in the middle of the room) just as evil can cast an evil eye, a spell, and so the bed, the bed was dying and looking at me. I heard a cry—a sign of gladness, I sat up in my bed, looked at the dying bed, stretching out my hands, and…Not knowing if I was dead. Said I, said I, I did say: why did I sit up again? I sat up again, I thought I was already up, but up again I came, my heart pounding, everybody was staring at me, everyone; I sat up again, I thought I was up, and felt a touch of coldness to my forehead. Where was my world: my awake world? the one I left behind, I wanted to reach it…my orchard of dreams was all I seen, and I was now taken out of that by this mysterious king: but I looked, looked for my orchard I couldn’t even find its perturbing roots, or their towering peaks, their lofty foliage. Everyone was staring behind me—anxieties crossed my mind, where was the fiend? The devils man, who is no mans friend, where was he?

I had come to this orchard many times: many, many, many times, and never once had I seen a fiend, a devil, a demon, not once, not ever once; what happened? I who had given advise to so many, many folks, about my orchard, and the demon that never came, and invited them, to come, come come and see my lovely orchard, to my orchard. I, I: me, the dreamer: I now was suffering in my own dream (nightmare I think: it can’t be reality: can it?), but how do I get back to tell the many [reality] the ones I told to come, come to my orchard? I was seduced in my dream I see, or so I am witnessing it now; I tried to get out of my bed, and she, yes she, it turned into a She, she just grabbed me, trying to keep me stationary, killing me, slowly. And I saw the many, so many behind me staring, just staring at me Not sure if they seen me, if they were coming, I do know they were staring—gawking more like it, as if I was part of a certain creation, theirs: a nightmare. I was their nightmare: yes, yes, perhaps that’s it; I don’t know for sure; I’m still in this bed, with arms and now a head. And the head, beautiful and all, wants me to stay a while.

This is the end! I said, when I awoke up, yes, when I woke up, I was dead, and instead of it being a dream, I was in the orchard Of the demons, I had never known this, tell now; the seeds they Planted so long ago (not me), had sprouted those lovely trees, trees I Thought were part of my orchard: no, oh no, they were never Mine, the orchard, and the trees: who shall inherit them now? I don’t know, and I suppose now I don’t care: it was harvesting time I could see—down here And I am the harvest, not the many. And now those who were looking: looking so strangely: are celebrating, my arrival here. I am a shake, a wager, a bit, Not all that significant, but nonetheless, a bit, and I was the horse that came in.

Poet Dennis Siluk, see his books at http://www.bn.com

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