Maybe the wolves no longer howl at the fool moon …

Walk …through the desert until you find water…

An oasis of all things you have dreamed of…

Climb the mountain until you reach your horizon …

Higher and higher…Until your feet hurt….

Your horizon and the water are nothing but feelings

Perceptions.

Your own private Idaho.

If you are asleep, don’t let anyone wake you up.

You can travel through time and place.

You can still be part of the clear blue sky.

You can be the snow gently falling in the valley.

You can still be the dust from the stars that light up the night on your dream.

You can still grow strong with the cypresses branches.

Your tears are the flow of the river leading your way..

You still can be the howling of the wolves on that mountain top.

That mountain top from where you sit and witness yourself sailing away. And the horizon is yours to dive into.

The golden land….Beyond the veil of reality …

Where darkness peacefully pierces your flesh like diamonds … needles trying to find the end of tunnel in your skin.

And violins play your loneliness away…

Can you hear it?

Maybe if you listen quietly, the sounds will take you to that distant oasis in the desert …

Or maybe you find that nothing of this is real…

Maybe that oasis has long dried out…

Maybe you can never reach the top of that mountain… or maybe you have never actually begun to climb it…

Maybe all the stars are gone. They all silently vanished while you were not looking.

Maybe all the cypresses were burned.

And all the pages you have written …all the words were just in vain…

Maybe you find yourself no closer than you were before…

Maybe you find that the golden land has turned into ashes...

And maybe the wolves no longer howl at the fool moon …