It starts with a dream, so vivid that I almost believe it to be reality, and my tiny room to be illusion. Like the philosopher -I can’t remember who, but one of the early Taoists- who could not say whether he was a man who dreamed of being a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that it was a man. I don’t usually learn about that navel-gazing sort of thought, but for once, something from a solipsistic tradition is kind of relevant to me.

With that said, well, I’m definitely going to keep acting as if the boring part of my conscious experience is the real one, and the more exciting one is the false one. It’s much longer, for one, and I’m too cynical to trust an exciting life. Okay, I’m getting sidetracked. Where was I?

Right, the dream. It was a beautiful scene, and unlike most dreams I have, the details were easily remembered for days afterwards. I assume my subconscious took inspiration from my favorite environments; it was a whirlwind mix of nature, in all its variety and beauty. All, that is, except other animals. The birds and mammals and insects, where were they? Nothing moved except me.

I remember running through dense forest, moving over soft, light green moss, the majority of the sun captured and scattered by foliage. What remained dappled on the ground, providing variety in the lighting. The leaves were plump, growing strong and so abundant that they brushed against me as I ran, the sensation refreshingly grounding.

I remember a shift in the forest, as I traveled along my chaotic path. Like the spectrum redshifting as one’s velocity climbs, the forest slowly transitioned into one dominated with red, the leaves now colorful, as they would be in fall. The rest of the place followed suit, no less beautiful for its imminent death- or at least, that’s what all this would normally signify. It remained unmoving.

While still lovely, it felt like things were not right. A feeling in my gut that things were not yet in their final place. As I moved on, this was proven right. There was another shift in the forest, beginning with the ground this time. It changed in texture, in material, no longer a light fluff. I instead stood on an expanse of raw flesh, undulating like it was living, but not enough to unbalance me. To the contrary, it helped me stay upright, almost cradling me with what little it could move.

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The trees were not plants anymore. They were limbs, an overwhelming variety of extremities everywhere I could see. Arms and legs and wings of all kinds, skin and fur and feather covered, all held each other together as they rose up, opened out to hands, paws, claws, standing in for leaves. Eyes beheld me as I observed them, placed in whatever crevices allowed them to observe as much around as possible. I knew now, why the forest had no animal life; it was one animal, one being composed of dizzying variety.

It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Everything fit together right, even if it was from a thousand different species and a hundred anatomical pieces. It didn’t matter where it all came from, the arrangement had a harmony and cohesive nature that made it so incredibly scenic. It felt right, to me, and that’s not just a result of the dreamy mind-state I had then; When I picture it, I still love what I saw then. Maybe I’m weird for that- okay, no, I’m definitely weird because of it. Doesn’t matter, I still find it compelling, something I want to experience again with all my heart.

I want to be a part of it, I think. The flesh and the sense of belonging I felt, it was all wonderful. But no matter how close I got to it, to everything, there was always a disconnect: I was still myself, and still a distinct person. Consequently, I would always be another being, not one with it, nor could I ever be.

As I was struggling with this, the dream ended. Abruptly, I was awake, and once more in my terribly mundane, unfortunately quiet, bedroom. My alarm beeped at me insistently, and my day pressed upon me, all the things I had to do cropping up in the back of my mind.

I pushed it all away, focusing on my dream for a moment. It was completely unattainable, I knew, but I wanted to believe it for just a moment, to melt away into something so much more than myself. For a second, I felt something warm, pulsating on my hand, but it was gone in a flash. Just a tactile hallucination, I told myself. The result of still being half asleep, and coming off of a very immersive dream.

But it felt real for a bit. It gave me hope, that I could feel it all again, and I could not, would not let go of that.