Visions strolled with the mists of truth. Slow languid steps of afternoon were left far behind as the visions glided effortlessly into the mindscapes of the mouse. It envisioned a green garbed Philosopher, surrounded by creature’s great and small. All paying homage and bowing down in reverence. The Philosopher spoke some unknown tongue only souls could decipher. The mouse overheard the Daises and Brook whispering of a secret pilgrimage that has been taking place even before the seed of the forest had been sown. An ancient journey that all must take. The green garbed Philosopher awaits in the lap of time like a pocket of energy unchanged and undivided. Instinct swims the sea of consciousness to reach the island of sense, which is inhabited by action.
The mouse was mystified and spellbound by these secrets. But alas! It remained trapped.
The worst traps are those that are the most easily avoidable. The mouse yearned for the city. Instinct drowned and the island was left undiscovered.
The vision drifted further and further into the realm of pure dream-wishes and the manifestation was manifested no more.
The owl on its unseen perch wept. As a vision unsensed is a sad matter indeed. The Owl gave a coy-wise fatalistic smile and secured it’s place amongst the books left unread in the dusty library of ignornance.
The mouse lay trapped. And the sad thing was that it knew how to free itself. Yearning became a burden of knowing but not sensing, looking but not seeing. And the vision, a willow-o-wisp in a silvery enchanted lake of pure solace; vanished.
Only the phosphorescence of memory lingered. And memory lingers when instincts drown. Just conscience unsensed, alone.