You sleep, and you dream

You have been asleep for some time when you start to dream, as you always do. And in your dreams, you once again find yourself drifting, soaring beyond the clouds, past the skies of our world and into the realm of dreams. You fly through the endless expanse of your subconscious and its clouds of innumerable colors, a smile of childlike joy and wonderment on your face. Although once again you feel powerless to control your flight, at the same time you feel at peace. Whatever **** guides your passage surely has a plan, and for now you are content to be along for the ride.

Even in your dreaming haze you know you have dreamed this dream before, so many times. You know what's coming. It won't be long now until the clouds part and you see it, that wonderful, beautiful city of white marble, its silver-capped spires towering over its golden streets and reaching towards you and the prismatic sky. A whispering voice in the back of your mind reminds you that, regardless of the city's beauty, you can only marvel at it from afar, as you are never able to land, never quite able to reach your goal. However, tonight you feel none of the sadness that usually accompanies your longing.

As the clouds of color part and the beautiful City of Dreams rises into view, your hungry eyes once again feast upon its marvelous sights. Somehow, they all seem so clear tonight. There are marble manors and towers wreathed in spiraling, winding white stairs. Sprawling plazas with impressive, masterfully-carved statues and sparkling, crystal-clear fountains can be seen here and there. Massive, wonderful temples, their walls embellished with intricate carvings and sculptures rise above the golden streets and plazas, and throughout their halls echo hymns in praise of gods more beautiful than the city itself. The city's people go about their lives amidst the wonder all around them, seemingly oblivious to the breathtaking beauty of their surroundings.

And of course, they have their own beauty as well: their flawless skin ranging from pale white to shining golden brown, long, luxurious hair of gold, or silver, or red, or white, or any other beautiful hue accentuating the delicate features of man and woman alike. Their loose-fitting togas, robes, dresses and tunics appear as fine a silk as you have ever seen. Even as you resign yourself to merely soaring past the city once again, never to set foot on the sacred stones of its glorious, winding streets, you cannot help but feel content, at peace, and overcome with the warmth of the deepest joy as you gaze at the city below.

To your surprise, you feel the warm breeze shift around you, and suddenly you are flying closer to the city than ever before. You're close enough now that you can make out individual features of the citizens below. The city's inhabitants are indeed a beautiful people. You can make out writing in a strange, flowing script on some of the buildings, but you are unable to determine what they say.

"Dunsany," a sweet, familiar voice echoes in your head. "Henry Dunsany, my city once again calls to you. Do you hear her call?"

"I do," is your half-choked response. You want to say more, to say that the city's call echoes not only in your dreams, but in your waking life as well. You long to tell the pleasing, pleading voice that you want to answer its call, but don't know how. You once again find it overwhelmingly difficult to actually speak in this dream, though.

"You must reach us," the voice calls again. "The city yet needs her king. The queen yet needs her king."

You cast your gaze around the streets and avenues, the plazas and rooftops, and through every inch of the city you can see, desperately looking for the source of the mysterious voice that for a second night calls you. You see no obvious source, though. None of the citizens below seem to notice you, and you see nothing and no one else who could be speaking to you.

"When will the dream-traveler come to us?" the voice asks. "The throne has sat empty for so long. We need you, Henry Dunsany."

"I want to reach you," you stammer with great effort. "But how? I don't know how!"

"You must find a way," the voice instructs, the longing in its voice cutting through the sense of peace you had felt throughout the rest of your dream-flight. The voice grows faint as you now drift further and further away from the city, floating once again through swirling clouds of color and feeling.

"I will," you proclaim as the city fades from view. "I swear, I will!"