Dreams and Reality: The White City

You settle in for a good night's sleep, and your subconscious mind sends you drifting, soaring beyond the clouds, past the skies of our world and into the realm of dreams. Cool air rushes by as you float and fly through the air, formless swirls of color and feeling all around you. And as you fly, you can only marvel at the mysterious and wonderful sights and sounds around you in this world-beyond-worlds. You cannot control your flight - you are not the pilot but the passenger, along for the ride of your life in this voyage of dreams.

You have had this dream before. The dream is always the same. You know what is coming next. Soon, you break through a cloud of rainbow wonder and see it, far below: the White City, the City of Dreams. You do not know the city by its name, but you have seen its towering, silver-capped spires of gleaming white marble more times than you could count, and you never tire of its breathtaking beauty. As you soar, you are overcome with a sense of joy and wonder as you gaze down at the golden streets and crystal fountains of the dream-city below. How wonderful it must be to walk the shining streets of the city, to drink from its clear springs, and to idle the time with the peaceful, charming citizens.

The rational part of your brain, that small fragment that knows you are dreaming even as you dream, reminds you that, beautiful though the city may be, you have never actually reached the city. You always awaken before you can, sometimes while high above the city, as you are now, and sometimes as you float downwards, ready to land and begin to see the city on its own terms. Other times still, you fly past the city itself and awaken as the city slips from your view. And, this knowledge fills you with something beyond the peace, tranquility and wonder. It fills you with regret, for you know this dream will be like the others, and you will wake up long before you reach the city itself. Indeed, you have dreamed this exact dream many, many times before, and never once have you reached the city.

As you begin to resign yourself to once again awakening, unfulfilled in your quest to reach the White City, a new feeling creeps its way into your dream-consciousness: a feeling of longing and of need, as if something was missing, taken from you, and you would not be whole until it was returned. Then, you come to realize that these feelings are not your own - you have never reached the city, the very object of this dream, so surely there is nothing that could have been _taken _from you. There is nothing that could be missing if you never had it in the first place. No, these feelings seem to come from the city itself.

This is new, you think to yourself. The city has never felt at me before.

As you ponder the situation before you, the feelings strengthen and coalesce into thoughts, words, and a voice. You are vaguely aware that you do not hear this voice in a conditional sense, but even so the city speaks to you in a voice of sweetness and warmth, but at the same time full of its sense of loss and longing.

"Dunsany," the city calls to you. "Henry Dunsany, my city calls to you."

You float in stunned silence, finding yourself unable to respond.

"Dunsany, my city calls to you for she needs her king," the city's voice entreats you once again. "When will you come to us, O dream-traveler?"

"I... want... to..." you stammer, finally finding yourself able to speak. "I want to, but I can't reach you..."

You feel yourself floating further from the beautiful city. This part of the dream is familiar. You know you'll be waking up soon, back to the real world, and away from the City of Dreams and its newfound voice.

"But you must," the voice calls again, pleading. "The city needs her king. The queen needs her king. The city needs you, Henry Dunsany. You must reach us."

"I'll try," is all you manage to reply. You've never tried to speak in this dream before, and now that you have you find it surprisingly difficult. "How can I get to you?"

"You must reach us," is your only answer from the city's voice, now growing faint as you drift away from the city itself. "We need you. I need you."

At this point, the voice has fallen to a near-whisper, and the gleaming city is just on the edges of your view.

"I'll try," you say again. "I don't know how, but I'll try."

No sooner have those words left your lips than you return reality, awakening as the warm light of the summer sun beams through the window above your bed. Groggily, you roll over and look at your alarm clock. It's 6:30 AM, 30 minutes before your alarm is set to go off. You could try to get another half-hour of rest, but you doubt you'd have a dream as interesting as the one you just awoke from. Or, you could just accept your fate and get a 30-minute head start on your day.