it is fiction.

memory; a collection of moments, viewed from a single perspective, tied together over time to formulate some sort of coherent past, a segment of a person traveling through the universe. it is a life.

and it is a fiction. a story told by one mind, carried, convoluted, blessed, and blundered over by one filter, shown on one screen only, limited engagements so make your reservations early.

it is dream. waking dream.

and if someone else, of a life far different, were to have lived the previous months as i have, what would their dream be, their fiction, their memory?

could just be the jetlag and travel exhaustion talking (and what a unique marvel of modern time, to be able to cover physical distances faster than we can do so mentally) but i am still in waking dream. my memory of the last six months is still formulating, my sense of time telling me that a lifetime has been led in a time frame that reality argues is not possible.

i am of a great many things and in sleep and dream my brain is trying to communicate with my soul to find a coherent fashion by which to tell my story. trying to find a solution so that i might be a storyteller to my own self.

science tells me (or my poor understanding of it does) that a great many particles are bouncing around. that those atoms and molecules that make up the plastic of the keys that i am typing on might occasionally slip and bounce around in my fingers and vice versa. not to any great extent (so far as i can tell) but subtly, carried in a vein beyond my perception. but i am of the items i touch. as much as i am me, am my heart and my blood, my skin and my bones - i am the air that i breathe, the ground that i walk on, the sunlight that i feel on my body, the sea that i swim in, and so on.

i am of and i am all that i encounter. i am a dream with blurring edges, an aura that dances with those around it in the ether, forging stories that shine deliriously in the history of the universe.

it is mystery multiplied, the gateways of manifold secrets. and the greatest secret of them all is a simple one, that god can be found in all places and at all times. that answers float in and out of our skin as often and as subtly as sub-atomic particles do. that we simply need to listen, to lie back, and float quietly in the river for a while.

there is no greater gift that we have been given, no greater adventure that we can go on, than to learn and understand what it is to be human.

it is fiction.

it is dream.

it is.