All Your Dreams Must Be In Color
I declare the numb places in your body unbearably sensitive to touch, even to the pressure of a summer breeze. When a butterfly settles on the back of your hand, you will faint with the intensity of its caress; and as for my caress, you cannot conceive of a world like that, where stones melt into song.
Now I remove the veil of loneliness and pronounce you shamelessly happy.
I command the waves, heightening your peaks and deepening your troughs. I clap, and the flatline of your dispassion becomes a typhoon of amazement. When you encounter a lover's gaze, oceans will still one another, every trough filled with a tear, and high places engulfed with sighs.
I demand that you postpone the wedding until you have removed your shoes and walked barefoot beside me on a distant star.
I abolish the straightness of paths, the narrowness of ways. I decree that your journey be a spiral.
I wave my hand and make your destiny a labyrinth with seven rings on moving water. At its center is the womb, where breath is in its liquid form.
I prohibit the sound of the word 'love': instead, everything you do must mean it.
I proclaim an end to both waking and dream. If you do not discover the light before darkness, the space before motion, the hum sheathed like a sword of ecstasy in silence, you must assume your shadow again, and take up right and wrong.
I decree that every form is sacred because it is formed out of nothing. I absolve you of thought.
Now I relinquish control of your illusions. You are free to become.
What this all means, you will tell me when you get to the place where I Am, and comprehend how you created me, to postpone the unendurable beauty of yourself.
Then we will return together, walking hand in hand out of the labyrinth, onto this green planet's miraculous grass.