Ghost Dance

awakening.

The study was cold and dark, and the fire was slowly dying. With the back of my stately chair turned to its warmth, I had sufficient light for my reading. The stories I read were fantastic and inspiring. Knights charging into battle. St. George slaying the dragon. Beasts and saints. My mind reeled and dreamed dreams unthought of by man.
For days and days, so it seemed in my head, I explored these ancient texts. For years and years in my reading I traversed deserts, climbed pinacles, descended into dens of devils, and waded through bogs and mires. For ages and epochs I was struck down, only to rise again and press on. The study, the armchair, the stacks of leather-bound literature were left far behind. I was made anew. I was no longer myself.
Until a movement caught the periphery of my vision. It seemed to flash before me and disappear behind. I glanced back to stare at the fire. The embers glowed a dull red, yet still seemed to flare before my vision. My eyes, so accustomed to words on parchment, were dazzled by the blaze. A flame vibrated upward and in its fickle light I observed the most marvelous scene. What it was, I cannot put into words. A vision of a heaven higher than the seven levels already seen. A clash and a war and a deep peace, all wrapped into a shimmering light. My eyes could not endure such visions.
I turned to read again, but as my eyes adjusted to the bleak surroundings, I noticed from whence the first movement came that caught my attention. Ghosts on the floor wheeled and danced, stepping here and ducking there. The very instant I began to follow one's course, at that moment it slipped away into nothingness. These pulsating shadows astounded me, compelled me further than volumes of legend and lore even could have...and yet they would not stay.
Finally, wearied beyond the point of simple fatigue, I rose to shuffle to my bed. I longed to sink into its soft embrance and to dream.