“The Badlands grade all the way from those that are almost rolling in character to those that are so fantastically broken in form and so bizarre in color as to seem hardly properly to belong to this earth“. – Theodore Roosevelt
In the dream, I ran the badlands, the brilliant cosmos overhead, held my own toward the future, and closed the timeline on my past. The beat of sound it came from heaven, the aurora borealis above my running head. The tongues of prayers, a field of angels, the healing wound of all I dread. In the vision was the lifeblood, of what I used to be, a great belief in all apostles, their words a platitude filled sea. A youthful mind indecisive, until time crept up on me. Now a gray haired man runs through the badlands, a rapid heartbeat of disbelief.
The shifting sands of narrow arroyos, the briars and snakes held there, hard to think that in a summer storm, one could drown if still stuck there. A star lights on the mesa, alien bright it falls so fair, as if to light an earthbound altar beseeching communication from out there.
Unbound, unbound my beating heart that inhales desert air in coldest dark. Scratching illumination as I run in midnight’s lair, humanity’s close death I share. A stretch into my imagination, mixed thoughts rising there, a better night for flying a throng of bats into the air. For I am a prayer unto the union of the joining of a pair, that lessor light of Shekinah with the glory of the upper care. My lungs they know no other way, then to praise the night, for whence cometh day. Loose now these bonds, these pounding feet, bare shrub, and cacti, a thousand shadows creep. The moment stark as in all dreams is it now real, or in my sleep.
In the dream, I ran the badlands, the brilliant cosmos overhead, and stuck between the sedimentary, I thought myself somewhere. The distance marked by parasangs, a length in whispers dared, I ran between the hoodoos, and caught the spirits in their lair. For it was on this occasion, it was this vision faire, that a grey haired man still running, found the secret of things not there. The desert is a badland, with creations built with care, a fortress of our human secrets, of the kind we would not share. We think them rather horrid, a reflection rarely seen, when in truth while we are running, they bring us breathless to know our where. To know our where.
In the dream, I ran the badlands, the brilliant cosmos overhead, held my own toward the future, and closed the timeline on my past. – 08.14.2018 – דָּנִיֵּאל