I had a dream last night.

I was holding the hand of my beloved. Her hand felt strong, her eyes seemed playful, her words faded when she smiled.

I left her and found myself stranded on the streets of a city, late at night, hungry. I went into a fancy restaurant and asked for bread. They served me a lamb.

Next morning I was walking down a street. My cash was spent and I was on my way home. A beggar asked me for money. I recognised him: back when I was poor I promised him a lunch. As we were passing the same restaurant, I invited him in. I knew I was dreaming, and so I found enough courage to use a credit card.


The register beeped indicating that the imaginary money will not be accepted.

I took an old man out and led him into a dark room. I laid him down on his back. Using the words sharp as knives I opened up his chest. His soul came out; it was about the size of an egg, and it shone with a white soft tender light. As he was dying, the man breathed "Thank you".

I woke up and cried, but not before I had my morning smoke.