My Dreamstate: Tashi's Passed-On Soul-Screen (Master’s Level-1 Instructions) – Pt. 2 Ch.1.2

I knew I was floating in the air, and any transference felt just like an MP4 screen shutting down in a flash—lights out, the screen darkened—only to turn back on from the other side, as if someone had switched it on again.

A subtle shift of energy pulsed through me, like a brief disruption in the flow of a dream, but it was familiar. I had been here before in moments like these, suspended in a twilight state where reality and illusion danced in an indistinguishable rhythm.

A sense of comfort washed over me—weightless, serene—like watching a documentary unfold on the vast screen of my dreamlike state. And Drakos… had somehow become my cushion.

His presence enveloped me in a sense of safety, a grounded reassurance that allowed me to float freely in this suspended world. Even the sound of his breath became a comforting rhythm, guiding me through this ethereal space.

My back rested against Drakos’ belly, soft as cloud feathers, cradling me in warmth. So yes, I was truly watching a documentary, but from inside it.

I could almost feel the pulse of this dreamstate—alive and flowing like the very air I breathed. I was both an observer and a participant, caught between two worlds. And yet, the feeling was peaceful, as though I was floating between layers of existence, each layer leading to something greater.

2025.1.1

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Then I saw this—knowing I wasn’t anywhere near Tashi’s stone house, nor the stairs or the winding walkpath to the next home. Probably a large city like New York… or the New New-York.

I couldn’t pinpoint the place, but I sensed the vibrancy of a city in full motion, its energy vibrating with the hum of progress, yet a strange undercurrent of stillness pervaded the scene. It was as if I was witnessing the quiet aftermath of something monumental, a moment suspended in time.

A well-dressed gentleman stepped into view, his three-piece suit tailored to sharp perfection. The deep charcoal fabric contrasted elegantly with his silvery-blond hair, the ensemble punctuated by a dark crimson tie—subtle yet deliberate. His modern reading glasses gleamed under the overhead lights.

Everything about him exuded purpose—his movements deliberate, each step measured, as though the weight of his knowledge was reflected in the careful precision of his attire.

"Prof. Ron Gawke."

Some passersby greeted him with familiarity as he walked forward, his polished leather shoes making a soft cadence against the marble floor. He approached and stood at the edge of the vast reading room.

The sound of his footsteps echoed in the marble hall, a rhythm that seemed to underscore the silence that enveloped the library. It was a place of stillness, yet brimming with anticipation, as if the books themselves were alive, waiting to reveal their secrets.

The flopping Windows icons marked the time, a quiet pulse in the hush that had settled—like the deepening dusk outside Tashi’s stone house, where wind carried the scent of cooling earth and distant prayer flags trembled against the mountain’s breath.

The images on the screen blurred momentarily, the flashing icons a metaphor for the impermanence of time, as though the world itself was cycling through frames of existence, rapidly shifting, yet always returning to its starting point.

Here, in the library, the air held a different kind of weight—the scent of aged parchment tinged with something crisper, like high-altitude wind slipping through unseen corridors, as if bridging two worlds.

It was a sacred space, a place that held secrets not only of the past but of the present and future. There was a timelessness to the atmosphere, as though the very walls were steeped in the knowledge of ages, each book a vessel for countless stories, each page a doorway into another reality.