Have you ever woken up in a dream, unsure if you were really conscious or still floating around the nightly ethereal clouds? I have. It happened last night. During my peaceful slumber, a brightness pierced through my nocturnal veil, a glowing point of snowy sheen, boiling back shadows, a twinkling spray of illumination. It blanketed everything around me, taking it all to itself, absorbing completely. I tried to open my eyes. But I couldn’t. It was too bright. It was too white.
My eyes stayed frozen shut as the light took form, settling into a familiar shape, becoming solid. How I know this without seeing, I couldn’t tell. The world shifts in different ways at night. Perhaps my heightened state of awareness provided me a sixth level of sense, a knowing. Perhaps there was no light at all. Perhaps it really was all just a dream. Still, I knew without knowing how I knew that a figure was there. And without opening an eye, I could see.
Clad in white, a Sweet Potato rose above me, casting beams of warmth, cascading love, carefully targeted flowing energy. It washed over me, holding me captive, not against my will, but against my desires. I lacked any need to move, I was free and unfree. Enslaved in ecstasy. Yet, still numb and infinite. I waited. It wasn’t my turn to act.
“Fifty times now you’ve dreamt my dreams. Fifty times now you’ve seen. And with no thanks, no appeasement to your muse, your creative tributary veins, you still plow forth. What would you say to me now if you were awake, what would you say to my great, white light? What would you say if I never returned?”
It stopped talking, anticipating reply. Still I didn’t act. I didn’t move. I didn’t respond. I simply stayed, absorbing as much of its white light as I could. In frustrated angst, it started to bend, blinking strobes in and out of existence, weakening itself. I continued to do nothing. I continued to wait. It couldn’t stand my indifference. It began to waver. Then without warning, it wordlessly washed out in one last brilliant spray, caving in, dimming out its light.
As it faded away, retreating back into my mind’s dark trap, I peeked open an eye, a tiny squint braced against the smoldering glow, whispering after it, “Fuck you, Sweet Potato.” And then I slept.