The Seventy Third Dream Of The Waiting Prince

And this morning my Lord told me of his dream of the night before. And he said to me, “My dear scribe, last night as I slept I dreamt. And in this dream I sat silently in the sun, my eyes closed. And everything was red, and everything was warm, and all I could hear was the sighing of the wind, and the beat of my heart, and the creak of my bones, and the rustling of my robes, and the scratching of my skin against the frame of my chair. And when eventually I opened my eyes, everything around me was pale, as if the sun had bleached the colour from the world, and everything too was silent, as if the use of my sight had struck the whole world dumb, so no longer did the wind sigh, nor my robes rustle, nor my heart beat. And now I began to call out, and as my cries grew louder, and more frantic, and my desperation rose, I could not tell if my shouts made any noise, or if I just imagined now that they did. Yet in a dream, all is imagination, is it not? And in life, who can say for sure it is not the same.”