Is everyday above ground a good day?

To live in that place only dreamt about, that garden of stone and wood and delicate things that disintegrate when touched. It’s there just out of reach. There’s no map no directions and no memory of ever having traveled there only the knowledge that it’s real and that it’s there, somewhere.It’s warm and dark like the hollowed out trunk of an old tree sheltering you from that cold storm howling like demons intent on consuming your soul.It’s also brightly lit and lazy like beams of sunlight streaming through a drapless pane of glass warming a spot on the floor and revealing those little things floating always in the air.That unreal moment when dozing in a comfortable chair on a hot afternoon, strength sapped and energy gone you think you’re dreaming or you dream you’re thinking, you also think you’re awake but you can’t seem to open your eyes.There’s always something to be remembered but never able to clearly picture it, ever again.To live in that place forever. Is that paradise or merely the psychotic hallucinations of a raving lunatic wearing nothing at all except a red felt cowboy hat with white trim around the edge and little green sandals.Hmm-good question.
Current Mood: thoughtful
Current Music: Joan Jet