Our Web of Atomized Worlds in anticlimatic

My niece, who is two, is very into blanket forts right now. She’s a very somber child, but if you put her in one she just sits in there by herself and grins. Her cozy little tent is always her favorite place to be.

I can relate. Particularly in these winter months when the clouds press downward and the snow chokes the land. We in the great frozen north hide by lamplight in our own cluttered tents, clinging to the furnace vents for survival. The great vacuum of space and time, held back in the summer by the green mirage of visible organic life, closes in- but not all the way.

It makes one reflect on the various conceptualizations one holds of the world. Each, a tiny blanket fort in a sea of others, each sea of others in a larger sea of unseen reality- each sea of unseen reality in a larger sea of possibility.

I once had a dream so vivid I thought it a memory from another life. The more I think about it, the more I know it to be true- thought it was of course not my life, which should be obvious. The memory was utterly rudimentary in features- stars, the smell of cool desert sands, a feel of wind, starlight and jagged shadows of mountainous rock with a single rounded silhouette of a doorway to pass through into the outdoors. There was a sandy path with patches of grass and slopes of sand on either side, barely visible in silver black starlight. And that was the dream. I believe I was walking down the path to a horse for some reason. Some reason in the dark. Very simple, but so potent- it had to have been someone’s memory. Statistically speaking, it had to have been many someone’s memory.

These are my favorite experiences, for as incapable as I am of truly viewing inside the tent of
another person, I know there is yet a connection- just not with whom, or when.