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  • Foto del escritorTao Burga

A Dream of Freedom

I've had a dream.

I was stranded on a white beach, and the peaceful waves stealing sand from beneath my feet. The sea seemed infinite, and the horizon stretched and stretched far beyond where my eyes could reach, and no matter how hard I tried to see, what awaited me on the other end refused to be seen.

“How did I get here?” I thought, but I could not remember a start for my journey.

“Where am I going now?”, But beyond the present I could not see.

The palmtrees appeared not to struggle against the pressure of gravity, the air flowed effortlessly and the gentle breeze stroke my hair with a soft hand. My body felt light and my mind quiet.

But then, dark clouds formed rapidly. I was confused, and, being unable to control this dream of mine, I quickly despaired.

“How could this end so suddenly? Haven't I got much yet to see of this wonderful world I find myself in?” But there were no people to talk to, and none of the things that fulfilled me just a minute ago provided any answer.

“How could this be? Who else but me is bending destiny to his will? What power that I so foolishly neglected hitherto is creating this disturbance in my own mind? Who stole the key to those things I hold on the most to, those things for which I live: my thoughts, my purpose, my aim, my island in the middle of the infinite salty sea?”

But no matter how upset I got, no matter how much I tried to blow the threatening black clouds away, they kept coming.

Thunder stroke and rain started pouring down on me as if the entire sky was melting under the unforgiving force of God's weep.

Dreams are owned by their creator, but dreams own their creator too. That which I saw with such clarity before has now been lost in the fiercity of the falling sky, and the peacefulness of the wavy sea drowned in the frenzy of its own hidden wrath, and the infinite horizon had now been stolen from my weary eyes.

I was lost in the storm, and chaos surrounded me. Enraged, I looked up and realised I could no longer see the shining stars, and I cursed at the world and my fate for making me who I am, for giving me the illusion of choice but sentencing me to a life set out to be lived from the moment I was born. What power do I have? Is life just a fixed story which plays in front of my eyes? If I don't have power, then who does? Who is making me a slave in my own dream?

What was my dearest treasure has been robbed from me long ago, and I was too blind to see the thief laughing blatantly at my misfortune. But how could this be? Am I not the creator of this world? Am I not the one who gave strength to this storm? Have I not made this island with my own hands, and painted the sky light blue? What is this threatening demon who crawls in the night trying to reach me to whisper to my ear? Would it make any difference should I hear what it has to say? But does that matter anyway? Is it not going to tell me what I already know?"

I cursed the world and all that's in it, ran into the furious sea to drown, and be born again, like a phoenix emerges from its ashes, and hoping never to wake up again.

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