This is the dream of a character I occasionally write about. Soona is his name. He's big, quiet, intelligent and deceptively sensitive. Strong as an ox too. It was written a couple of years ago and he may show up in some short stories with a few of his friends later this year.

I haven't written much lately, life, be it of my own making or the unseen interference of outside entities, or both as is most likely, has left me pressed for time when I have the desire to write, the lack of desire when I have the time and an inadequacy of strength to simply make both happen.

For those familiar with my, I guess struggle is a good word though it barely encompasses the entirety of having cancer and it's after effects on body and mind, I am over all well. Still in remission, though my left eye continues to lose sight and I am in store for more needles in it and possibly additional laser surgery though recovery of lost sight is doubtful. My spirit however, remains strong. I mean what the hell, had I done nothing or responded poorly, I'd be dead now. If you really stop and think about that, being dead for real, well, as my very first post in this forum said, perspective.

Anyhoo, the following is one of Soona's dreams.

Also, I do occasionally write things on my facebook page and am exploring some Zen Koans there. Feel free to drop by and check them out; maybe even leave a comment or two.

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Sometimes in his dreams he ran on four legs and was covered in fur. His head swung side to side as huge trees rose out of the dark, shrouds of fog torn to shreds on the huge trunks of the thousand year old giants. Practically blind his sense of smell directed him between the forest giants skillfully as a trout navigates his home stream. Always a destination was just ahead, but never did he reach it. Darkness got darker, fog got thicker, the trees larger and more densely packed yet on he ran, his breath huge bellows of white steam in the cold air, snow crunching with every footfall. Urgency, he must go faster, he must get to the other side. The trees, the darkness, the thickening fog…

and he starts swimming, his legs now those of a turtle, his body a hardened rounded shell. He stretches his elongated neck to the surface, desperate for air, but no matter how fast he paddles his feet the surface is just beyond his outstretched nostrils, the urge to breath so strong, at last with a final stream of tired bubbles he bursts through the barrier between water and air, using great grey and white wings to soar up and away catching swift currents with a tail flick and wing dip he commands the sky. Until the wind, perhaps jealous of his freedom, perhaps without noticing him at all, begins to blow…

building slowly from a easily manageable feather ruffling breeze into hurricane force gale winds tossing him about as if he were a snowflake in a blizzard and as the snow fell his tracks began to show behind him, a deepening in the snow he had walked over in four footed form and swum through in turtleness and flown through as one of the wing-ed until at last he once again walked upon two feet, prints in the snow going from four, two pairs side by side to one pair, of one who now walked upright.

The question now was, what next?