The Art Of Being

Euphoria

I lay down on my bed, or at least I think I did, it felt like I was sinking on a black hole in my bed as if it were a passage to the center of the earth. I don't know whether I was hallucinating but the mountains and the trees surrounding me felt like they were only a touching distance away and my mouth was so dry as if I kept inhaling nothing but sand and wind. My mind felt like the juice in a blender, swirling and breaking apart with the sharp blade. The hole I was falling into didn't look dark, but I knew it was. I felt like a dead person being brought down at a funeral. I felt like I was being brought down underground, I was going deep in the soil, deep underground where the roots of the trees don't reach, and where even life is impossible. The bugs couldn't reach me here, the weeping voices couldn't reach me here, the soil was damper, damp with hot, boiling water. I must have been getting closer to the sun ; where life is non existent and where nothing matters. I kept going down and under, until any thought burned with passion, until my skin was no longer skin but ashes, until my existence was burned down with the molten lava of the Suns existence. I felt the burning sensation of the sun, and I only craved more; she was addicting and only hours ago did I think she was unreachable. But I let myself sink in the hole, I let my mind submerge into this fictional world that was real because I could see it. I could see the pink and red tree trunks as I fell under. The deeper I would go, the more colorful it would get. I explained this phenomenon by the pure theory that my dreams are of more intense passion that my reality; my dreams give birth to the essence of my reality. In other words, my world, the world I can see and touch and feel, it is created through my dreams, my thoughts, myself. My being. Me.