The Reverie: Chapter one.

Within this world they had no name for, was this particular conscious mind with the least appreciated art. He had the right eye and the right ears to connect to different vibrations , listened to good music played along in other's dreams really well but none could empathize with his. The colors he saw had started giving a depth to the basic foundation this world was made of. the glittery dust was feeling weak before his eyes and his eyes only. He began questioning everything he could but he was trained so well in attaching himself to the dream he survived in. he tried and tried to express it through his art but none could recognize the meaning within. What could they make of abstract art with no particular rhythm to it. His songs weren't melodious but just beats without a pattern. The concept of leaving patterns was declared as giving in to the system. The system was designed around the insecurities for people in many different ways. "Safety" was on the top of the list. 

He sat next to this river of energy, much like water but not as affected by gravity. It Changed color every time someone drank from it Or if any foreign glittery dust with a different vibration fell into it. It came from the minds of the highest order of consciousness in that particular dream. They were to sit in places away from other dreams and had become so good at it that their vibrations became tangible, changing forms. The river was a way for them to spread love among all, but the fact that you can only receive once you want to, drink when you are thirsty, the river became an open source of warmth and love. The river wasn't restricted to minds within those dreams but flowed through all dimensions because only love and light could penetrate everywhere and its absence was bitter. "Bitterness is as important" he thought. 

A branch of a tree lowered to heal his spine that had been feeling stressed. The plants in this world were perhaps of a giving nature. They had understood giving was not from something to something, but only a matter of support. There weren't any hospitals either, there was no need, intention and touch was enough to replenish love in one's self. 

Next to the stone where he sat, grew some color changing grass which he pulled off the ground and smelled. It was alive still, and had whispers from other dimensions. he smelled them and they smelled of fragrances that weren't of his dream. It was good grass. He took it home. He took out a pipe that was given to him by his father to be used in times of contemplation. I had a crystal from another dream to confuse consciousness and shake the dream he'd live in all the time. A reminder of where he came from. The state of nothingness. 

The Majority of dreamers wouldn't agree or even try the grass or the pipe. Fear of the unknown does that to the mind, takes it over and turns it black in color; Not the subtle blackness which comforts one at night, but the one that haunts and gives freedom for the fears to grow. He wasn't one of them. He understood that questioning everything was necessary and that he was a dreamer after all.