Circa 31 A.D.
It was early evening. The air had a cool and pleasant feel as it traveled and whispered, but its breath was rank, smelling of age, disease, and decay. Jesus closed his eyes, and let the feel of the air wash upon his cheeks. He ignored anything it tried to say to him, for most of it was rancid and frightening, because the words of the air were now used to being rancid, and spoke of things worse to come as it blew across the land and water.
Jesus slowly opened his eyes to take in a world that was dooming itself, drowning in self perpetuated misery, and would soon sputter its last putrid breath into the already foul air unless he stepped in. As the ball of the sun bounced up and down, he became increasingly aware of what 'stepping in' would mean. His future scared and frustrated him, and what his future would mean became all too obvious whenever his eyes were opened. The Child of the Virgin and the Carpenter found himself missing the inside of his eyelids. When Jesus' eyes closed, he did not see darkness. With the curtain of his eyes drawn, Jesus became a welcome audience to whatever entertainment and enjoyment his Father thought would please him.perhaps remind him of who he was, and why he must do what he will, and willingly. Recently, Jesus was shown the land of Eden, before Adam was graced to call it his residence, or turn it into a home with his third wife, Eve.
The amount of green and blue in the Garden was startling. The trees were a lavish display as they danced with a breeze that not only felt clean, crisp, and calm, it spoke with a voice that was beatific, honest, and encouraging. The animals had the run of the land, but they were not selfish or impersonal, as was the consequence when they gradually were introduced to the true ways of men with the passage of time. Lamb spoke casually and with friendly fraternal frenzy to the lion, and the lion was a most gracious audience, yowling with amusement, purring with contentment.
The sky was an ocean not bound by gravity, and nor was it the seemingly impenetrable wall that the peers of Jesus' day made it out to be, a prison or casement, blocking communication or mixture of pleasantries, wisdoms, or queries between God the Father and his Children. The sky was a blanket drawn over the bed of the land, its clouds a wonderful pattern to interest a curious eye. When night came in Eden, the blanket did not become a cold and distant veil, as it seemed to wear today, but a pillow upon which the dreams of the lamb, lion, monkey, horse and all other animal kin, along with the dreams of the flowers and grass and breeze were all opened to exploration and ponder during the journey of sleep.
Jesus loved the Garden very much. Even, at times, more than his home when he was awake (for these thoughts he felt a slight amount of guilt, but was absolved when he heard the voice of Father somewhere near the middle of his mind speak with assurance and a slight laugh in his voice; "Eden is Paradise, my child. It would be natural to love it most out of all places. It would not be Paradise, without love, after all."). He decided he missed Eden, especially now, in the evening hours.when all seemed peaceful and thrummed with the quiet constant energy of idea and hope. Jesus was dazzled by the cherished manifestations of sleeping things.
Things were quiet. It seemed that all those who had questions, needs, a voice to hear, or an ear to listen were otherwise occupied, and Jesus suddenly realized that he was very tired. He pushed to a stand, leaving his musings on the dust that remained forever seated. Making his way to a nearby table, he took hold of an empty bowl. He fingered the edge of the bowl as he glanced around for some water to quench his thirst. Spying a puddle of water left over from a passed storm, he stepped purposefully toward it, and lessened its stores by filling the bowl. Jesus looked into his drink, seeing his face throbbing and dirty on its disdainful skin. He frowned. Since he was a little boy, Jesus always took some water with him before he slept, for it calmed him. This water seemed quite incapable of inducing the desired effect. With a slight sigh of annoyance, he asked his Father to give him water to drink that was clean and cool. The filth in the water was beckoned to leave, and the water that felt tepid in its warmth was cool, looking refreshing both to its soon-to- be drinker and the vessel which held it. Jesus saw that his face was no longer dirty, or churning in the angry leavings of a storm upon ripples of water, and he smiled a gentle smile, offering his quiet and humble thanks. He drank of the bowl, and was reminded immediately of the streams in the Garden. The water was exactly as he wished it to be, cool and clean, and was he granted his calm.
Jesus drank the bowl empty, and then replaced it where he found it upon the table. All around the table, then, he noticed his Followers and the friends of friends, lost in the hopes and needs of their sleeping. Before his hand left the bowl, Jesus beckoned it once more to fill with the water of Eden, and it granted his request. He left it on the table in waiting for anyone who might be disturbed into waking, and need water to calm them.
There was a corner of ground that was free ahead of him, had the half- shelter of tree branches, the bath of breeze, and a clear open sky overhead. That was enough for Jesus. He went to his spot on the ground, and folded himself to lie within the shade, to be touched by the breeze, and watched over by the stars. He bade his Father and his Disciples and their guests a good night, and then let his eyes close.
The picture of Eden shimmered in front of him, and he found himself in a situation very similar to the one he left, though the ground was softer, the sheltering arms of the branches were fuller and their shadows cradled him with a gentle maternity, and the stars looked upon him with far more intent and familiarity. Jesus smiled, allowing Paradise the will to exist and bask in his love, and to bask in the love that Paradise returned to him. Leisurely did he walk among the Garden paths, listening attentively to the stories of the night breeze, quietly reminding the night sky to make sure all of its corners were comfortably tucked around all of those that needed warmth, and checking on the sleeping animals and plants, assuring that they were safe and content.
After some time, Jesus left the path of the ground, threading his way carefully along the curve of one of four rivers within Eden, cheerfully thanking it for its water. The river bubbled and babbled happily, but modestly. Although he reasoned that he should be used to it by now, Jesus always marveled at his feet when they trekked upon the wavy glass of a river. The ripples he left always fascinated him, as did the realization that although the impacts he left were substantial, they seemed insignificant on such a thing as large as a river.
The dance across the river was interrupted abruptly as Jesus caught sight of a wavy reflection ahead of him. A man stood on the shore nearby, slim, tall, pale and looking curious. Surprise confronted the Son of Man, for he rarely had guests in his dreams (barring the occasional visit by an incarnation of his Father, his elder Brother Michael, or his eldest Brother Samael). Jesus stepped to the shore, wiping the strings of water from his sandals on the bank of the river. Jesus always welcomed guests, and this man was no exception. He matched gazes with his visitor, and offered an amicable smile of greeting and friendship.
"Good evening. Are you traveling or staying?"
".Staying."
Jesus kept his smile, and arched his arm over to a nearby tree. "That would be fine. You seem to have questions. Sit amongst the shade with me and I will do what I can to answer them." Jesus led the way, as his dream guest seemed reluctant and unsure of himself. Eventually, both he and his visitor sat comfortable in the shadow pocket of one of the trees of Eden.
"I recognize you now, my friend. You are Dream. I am Jesus of Nazareth."
Dream's star eyes flared and twisted the light of their axis at the statement. "You recognize me? I have never seen you, nor have I met you before."
"It is true. You've never seen me, and neither have you been in my company. But I know you, as I do all things, through the will of my Father who is my creator and yours and of all else."
"You are the Son of the God of the Covenant?"
"Yes." Jesus, now accustomed to bewildered audiences, knew to keep his answers simple and uncomplicated. He almost allowed his lips to twitch into a smile as he took note of Dream's expression of confusion and puzzlement. Perhaps simplicity didn't exactly help, nut it was polite nonetheless.
"I do not follow. It would explain the peculiarity of this situation, however. This dream is outside of my realm, which I thought impossible." Dream finished lamely, which unnerved him. He was used to commandeering conversations and having the final word.
"Nothing is impossible Storyteller. This situation, however, would seem peculiar. I could give an explanation, but it carries no guarantee to lessen the peculiarity. Would you like me to explain?"
Dream gave a nod that would be imperceptible to most anyone, but Jesus was and always would be a keen observer.
"You are Dream of the Endless, one of seven. You and your family were not created, at least not in a sense that would make that word appropriate here. The seven of you were facilitated as the need arose for you. When man was first confronted with choice, there was Destiny. When his life ended, there was Death. When who and what he was concerned him, he drifted to a realm of limitless possibility. Of things inhuman, or perhaps very human. The sensational and the simple. When man burdened these things over in his head, he Dreamed. And so it goes for each of you, the seven. The Endless are embodiments of what makes humanity, a consolidation of the ingredients that compose mortal living when mixed. You are Morpheus. The personification of an idea and that idea is Dream. You hold sway over the unreality projected into the black velvet banner of the evening sky by anything that indulges separate lives, choices, chances, or possibilities when they descend into sleep. And you wonder why you do not hold sway over my dreams, why my unwaking thoughts are not a puzzle piece that fits neatly into the overall continent of the Dreaming?"
A second slight nod was given.
"Like you, I am the personification of an idea, and that idea is God. Well, at least partially. My mother was.is mortal, therefore certain aspects of my existence are bound by the rules which govern mortality. These needs are mostly physical. The need to drink, eat, sleep and so on. My mental and emotional facets, which are the structural seams of your realm, are very separate from anything experienced on the mortal plane. In simple terms, Morpheus, my dreams are out of your jurisdiction." Jesus deliberately left out some of the other mortal aspects to which he is also bound, such as his mortality. Thoughts which truly disturbed him intruded his mind, frolicked behind his eyes. He shuffled his posture and recomposed himself quicker than usual, regarding his guest, Morpheus the spinner of tales. His expression was the same, but a hood hung laboriously over his star-eyes, which were noticeably dimmer, and he seemed paler in skin, darker in cloak. It was plain to see that he was about to speak, and Jesus waited.
"If they are beyond my reach, how was it that I was able to come here?"
"People in need are free to seek me out, are drawn to me. You could've come here on your own because you needed to, or I lit the path for you because I felt you were in need."
"And what do I need, Son of the God of the Covenant?"
"I know what you need, but that isn't the point. The point is that you recognize what you need, and use your knowledge to somehow begin working your way towards it. With my assistance, of course, if you want it."
"Are your dreams a haven? Where none can intrude and you have privacy?"
At this, Jesus gave a slight chuckle. "You are here, are you not?"
Morpheus made a move to stand "If I intrude, I will leave you."
Jesus made no move to stop him, but spoke reproachfully. "No one who seeks my counsel or even simple conversation is an intruder. I implore you to sit and talk, Dream, but I will not prevent you from leaving."
The Sandman retook his seat in the shade, on the Garden ground. "You know what you mean to.all things that live? What responsibilities you have?"
"Of course. I cannot look at a mortal face, into their eyes, and not be reminded."
"Does that not bother you? Do you not feel entitled to your own choices, your own paths, where your own decisions are made and you take your own actions?"
"Yes, I'm distressed by it, but it must be."
"Why?"
Jesus' brow rose in surprise and mild perplexity. "You question Destiny, Morpheus? I would've thought that he would be understood by his own sibling."
Out of reflex, Morpheus' eyes flared in indignation. "Destiny is of unclear mind. He speaks sparingly and often in ambiguous terms."
"Destiny is the embodiment of choice and confliction. The future is not his to chronicle or hypothesize. The book that he clings to is not written in by his hand, and neither is it made of stone. What is written is not preordained; it is just what seems most likely to happen by whoever is reading the pages at the time."
Dream was shocked (although his expression changed just slightly, almost imperceptibly). "Is it not his function to tell what will come as time passes?"
"His function is to offer security in choice. If it is written in a book, and believed to be the sole outcome, then those who read the book, or are told what is in the book, are comforted because it would seem that someone, somewhere, has a handle on the future. He exists as part of a whole, and the task of that whole is to etch out a schematic of humanity. No human knows the future; therefore Destiny does not know the future. He offers a possibility of the future."
"So the future is nothing but chaotic possibility?"
"The future is what you want the future to be Morpheus."
"Why is it then that what is written in his book always comes to pass?"
"Because you believe it will, as he does. To believe in something, one must want it to exist. If you believe that Destiny's book records the future, you want it to record the future, so you choose to make your future coincide with what is written in his book. .Have you ever read the book?"
"No one can read the Book of Destiny but Destiny. He is bound to it, it is he, and he is it."
"A chain connected to one's wrist is hardly ever-binding. The Book is not a book, just as Destiny is not destiny; it is an idea of what a book chronicling the future should be. It is believed to be the Book of Destiny, and thus it is."
"I.I was always afraid to even glance at it, over his shoulder. He is very careful though. Never reading its pages unless he is alone or he is in the position to guard the words well."
"Remember, friend, that when reading a book, focus is taken by a single page. When finished reading a page, the page is turned, and the page of Destiny changes depending on what choices are made. The same holds true for the pages that are not being read at the time. They are constantly in flux."
"This is more distressing then comforting. It seems.safer, somehow, to know that things that should come to pass do, and everything is laid down leading to the horizon and we are just along for the ride."
"This is precisely why Destiny is there, to offer security in choice. Everyone is going on a ride, true, but it is up to them where they end up. It offers a comfort, though, to see guideposts along the way. However, just because the signs are there doesn't mean you have to follow their directions."
"You seem to follow the track that is laid out for you, Jesus. Always obeying what your Father asks of you."
"This is because I want to. And yes, I am afraid of what will happen and have no doubt that it will.hurt. Fear and pain are not reasons to not go through with what is meant to be done, which is why you ask me all of these questions about fate and eventuality, you fear what is in store for you, and you do not know what you will mean to the rest of the world."
Dream shoved away from the dark spotlight that the two sat under, lunging towards the bank of the river in outrage, wanting space to think, and distance from Jesus.
"Meaning?! What Meaning do I have? None! I am a bastion for unreal stories, of wishes and wants that are unfathomable outside of the bounds of the dreaming. I am home to the unspoken and the unsubstantiated. What I do or say or feel begins in sleep and ends with waking. I am perpetual forgetfulness."
"Meaning does not have to be external. And you are not forgotten, Morpheus. The specifics of dreams are most often left behind, but the feel of a dream resides in the dreamer, good or bad. They remembered that they dreamed, and they remember what it felt like. That has impact."
"Perhaps." When Dream gets truly irked, his responses whittle down to one word, and the temperature with which that word is spoken is well beyond freezing.
"You do not want to be Dream." It was not a question.
"No."
"You are not Dream. You are Morpheus. There is quite a difference."
"Yes, I know. I am an aspect of Dream, and in some ways, my own essence, but that doesn't mean I am no less responsible for the whole. I may be Morpheus, but I must do what is expected of Dream."
"And what is expected of you? You are the ruler of the land without limit. You are constrained only by imagination and thought."
"The imaginings are not my own, and the thinking is spent conjuring ways to keep the Dreaming sustained and efficient. I am the Prince of Stories, yes, but never is the story my own. I am always a character, never an author."
"There is but one author Morpheus, and to perform on his stage is to perform without a script. That is the whole point, after a fashion. You will do what you want to do, because you believe you can. And if you believe you can fulfill your duties as a facet of Dream while living as Morpheus, then that is what will happen. You are who you are, not the title that precedes you. You will one day cease to be Dream of the Endless, and simply be Morpheus, because that is where you want to go and what you want to do. The journey that leads to that resolution will be one of the great stories, and it will be your great story. You should take comfort in that."
Morpheus paused, reflecting. "How do you know that is what will happen?"
"Is it what you want to happen?"
"Yes."
"Then you believe it will happen, and it will come to pass."
"But under what circumstances?"
"The circumstances are similar in virtue to those which will lead to my ceasing to be Jesus of Nazareth and becoming Jesus the Christ. As I said before, fear and pain are no reasons for not doing something. That is all I will say."
Dream walked back under the tree shadow then, nodding in thanks. "I enjoyed speaking with you Jesus. It was.informative."
Jesus nodded back as he stood. He bade Morpheus to walk beside him along the bank of the river. "Morning comes Dream King, and I wake, but our conversation will not be forgotten. I have ensured you safe passage back to your realm."
Morpheus showed that he could smile, which is something he painstakingly kept under wraps, but he reasoned that if anyone needed a smile, it would be his host, and he just plain felt like smiling. He also had a very insistent intuition that this would be perhaps the last time he would be in the presence of Jesus, so he might as well get everything out in the open.
"I admire and respect you. And I thank you for your company."
The smile of Dream was granted a mirror in the expression of the son of Mary and Joseph. "You are permitted my company whenever you please Morpheus. Although, I do ask that you wait for invitation at the boundary of my dreams. You were right in assuming that my dreams are a haven-of sorts-and there are some things that I wish to keep to me, or that are only meant for me."
"Of course Jesus, it is the least I could do."
"Then I wish you well in your walking of the paths."
"You as well, for what it's worth." Morpheus faded from the dream, with the image of a smile and remembrance of kind, articulate and thoughtful words to help him make his choices, and follow through with them.
Jesus stayed in the garden, by the river, admiring what lay around him as it was roused by the light of morning. The smile he gave Morpheus did not change when his guest left, neither did it leave his face as he left his dreamscape for the waking world, stirred by an insistent hand impressing upon his shoulder. In fact, Jesus' smile was the first sign that he gave the persistent Judas when he awoke.
It was early evening. The air had a cool and pleasant feel as it traveled and whispered, but its breath was rank, smelling of age, disease, and decay. Jesus closed his eyes, and let the feel of the air wash upon his cheeks. He ignored anything it tried to say to him, for most of it was rancid and frightening, because the words of the air were now used to being rancid, and spoke of things worse to come as it blew across the land and water.
Jesus slowly opened his eyes to take in a world that was dooming itself, drowning in self perpetuated misery, and would soon sputter its last putrid breath into the already foul air unless he stepped in. As the ball of the sun bounced up and down, he became increasingly aware of what 'stepping in' would mean. His future scared and frustrated him, and what his future would mean became all too obvious whenever his eyes were opened. The Child of the Virgin and the Carpenter found himself missing the inside of his eyelids. When Jesus' eyes closed, he did not see darkness. With the curtain of his eyes drawn, Jesus became a welcome audience to whatever entertainment and enjoyment his Father thought would please him.perhaps remind him of who he was, and why he must do what he will, and willingly. Recently, Jesus was shown the land of Eden, before Adam was graced to call it his residence, or turn it into a home with his third wife, Eve.
The amount of green and blue in the Garden was startling. The trees were a lavish display as they danced with a breeze that not only felt clean, crisp, and calm, it spoke with a voice that was beatific, honest, and encouraging. The animals had the run of the land, but they were not selfish or impersonal, as was the consequence when they gradually were introduced to the true ways of men with the passage of time. Lamb spoke casually and with friendly fraternal frenzy to the lion, and the lion was a most gracious audience, yowling with amusement, purring with contentment.
The sky was an ocean not bound by gravity, and nor was it the seemingly impenetrable wall that the peers of Jesus' day made it out to be, a prison or casement, blocking communication or mixture of pleasantries, wisdoms, or queries between God the Father and his Children. The sky was a blanket drawn over the bed of the land, its clouds a wonderful pattern to interest a curious eye. When night came in Eden, the blanket did not become a cold and distant veil, as it seemed to wear today, but a pillow upon which the dreams of the lamb, lion, monkey, horse and all other animal kin, along with the dreams of the flowers and grass and breeze were all opened to exploration and ponder during the journey of sleep.
Jesus loved the Garden very much. Even, at times, more than his home when he was awake (for these thoughts he felt a slight amount of guilt, but was absolved when he heard the voice of Father somewhere near the middle of his mind speak with assurance and a slight laugh in his voice; "Eden is Paradise, my child. It would be natural to love it most out of all places. It would not be Paradise, without love, after all."). He decided he missed Eden, especially now, in the evening hours.when all seemed peaceful and thrummed with the quiet constant energy of idea and hope. Jesus was dazzled by the cherished manifestations of sleeping things.
Things were quiet. It seemed that all those who had questions, needs, a voice to hear, or an ear to listen were otherwise occupied, and Jesus suddenly realized that he was very tired. He pushed to a stand, leaving his musings on the dust that remained forever seated. Making his way to a nearby table, he took hold of an empty bowl. He fingered the edge of the bowl as he glanced around for some water to quench his thirst. Spying a puddle of water left over from a passed storm, he stepped purposefully toward it, and lessened its stores by filling the bowl. Jesus looked into his drink, seeing his face throbbing and dirty on its disdainful skin. He frowned. Since he was a little boy, Jesus always took some water with him before he slept, for it calmed him. This water seemed quite incapable of inducing the desired effect. With a slight sigh of annoyance, he asked his Father to give him water to drink that was clean and cool. The filth in the water was beckoned to leave, and the water that felt tepid in its warmth was cool, looking refreshing both to its soon-to- be drinker and the vessel which held it. Jesus saw that his face was no longer dirty, or churning in the angry leavings of a storm upon ripples of water, and he smiled a gentle smile, offering his quiet and humble thanks. He drank of the bowl, and was reminded immediately of the streams in the Garden. The water was exactly as he wished it to be, cool and clean, and was he granted his calm.
Jesus drank the bowl empty, and then replaced it where he found it upon the table. All around the table, then, he noticed his Followers and the friends of friends, lost in the hopes and needs of their sleeping. Before his hand left the bowl, Jesus beckoned it once more to fill with the water of Eden, and it granted his request. He left it on the table in waiting for anyone who might be disturbed into waking, and need water to calm them.
There was a corner of ground that was free ahead of him, had the half- shelter of tree branches, the bath of breeze, and a clear open sky overhead. That was enough for Jesus. He went to his spot on the ground, and folded himself to lie within the shade, to be touched by the breeze, and watched over by the stars. He bade his Father and his Disciples and their guests a good night, and then let his eyes close.
The picture of Eden shimmered in front of him, and he found himself in a situation very similar to the one he left, though the ground was softer, the sheltering arms of the branches were fuller and their shadows cradled him with a gentle maternity, and the stars looked upon him with far more intent and familiarity. Jesus smiled, allowing Paradise the will to exist and bask in his love, and to bask in the love that Paradise returned to him. Leisurely did he walk among the Garden paths, listening attentively to the stories of the night breeze, quietly reminding the night sky to make sure all of its corners were comfortably tucked around all of those that needed warmth, and checking on the sleeping animals and plants, assuring that they were safe and content.
After some time, Jesus left the path of the ground, threading his way carefully along the curve of one of four rivers within Eden, cheerfully thanking it for its water. The river bubbled and babbled happily, but modestly. Although he reasoned that he should be used to it by now, Jesus always marveled at his feet when they trekked upon the wavy glass of a river. The ripples he left always fascinated him, as did the realization that although the impacts he left were substantial, they seemed insignificant on such a thing as large as a river.
The dance across the river was interrupted abruptly as Jesus caught sight of a wavy reflection ahead of him. A man stood on the shore nearby, slim, tall, pale and looking curious. Surprise confronted the Son of Man, for he rarely had guests in his dreams (barring the occasional visit by an incarnation of his Father, his elder Brother Michael, or his eldest Brother Samael). Jesus stepped to the shore, wiping the strings of water from his sandals on the bank of the river. Jesus always welcomed guests, and this man was no exception. He matched gazes with his visitor, and offered an amicable smile of greeting and friendship.
"Good evening. Are you traveling or staying?"
".Staying."
Jesus kept his smile, and arched his arm over to a nearby tree. "That would be fine. You seem to have questions. Sit amongst the shade with me and I will do what I can to answer them." Jesus led the way, as his dream guest seemed reluctant and unsure of himself. Eventually, both he and his visitor sat comfortable in the shadow pocket of one of the trees of Eden.
"I recognize you now, my friend. You are Dream. I am Jesus of Nazareth."
Dream's star eyes flared and twisted the light of their axis at the statement. "You recognize me? I have never seen you, nor have I met you before."
"It is true. You've never seen me, and neither have you been in my company. But I know you, as I do all things, through the will of my Father who is my creator and yours and of all else."
"You are the Son of the God of the Covenant?"
"Yes." Jesus, now accustomed to bewildered audiences, knew to keep his answers simple and uncomplicated. He almost allowed his lips to twitch into a smile as he took note of Dream's expression of confusion and puzzlement. Perhaps simplicity didn't exactly help, nut it was polite nonetheless.
"I do not follow. It would explain the peculiarity of this situation, however. This dream is outside of my realm, which I thought impossible." Dream finished lamely, which unnerved him. He was used to commandeering conversations and having the final word.
"Nothing is impossible Storyteller. This situation, however, would seem peculiar. I could give an explanation, but it carries no guarantee to lessen the peculiarity. Would you like me to explain?"
Dream gave a nod that would be imperceptible to most anyone, but Jesus was and always would be a keen observer.
"You are Dream of the Endless, one of seven. You and your family were not created, at least not in a sense that would make that word appropriate here. The seven of you were facilitated as the need arose for you. When man was first confronted with choice, there was Destiny. When his life ended, there was Death. When who and what he was concerned him, he drifted to a realm of limitless possibility. Of things inhuman, or perhaps very human. The sensational and the simple. When man burdened these things over in his head, he Dreamed. And so it goes for each of you, the seven. The Endless are embodiments of what makes humanity, a consolidation of the ingredients that compose mortal living when mixed. You are Morpheus. The personification of an idea and that idea is Dream. You hold sway over the unreality projected into the black velvet banner of the evening sky by anything that indulges separate lives, choices, chances, or possibilities when they descend into sleep. And you wonder why you do not hold sway over my dreams, why my unwaking thoughts are not a puzzle piece that fits neatly into the overall continent of the Dreaming?"
A second slight nod was given.
"Like you, I am the personification of an idea, and that idea is God. Well, at least partially. My mother was.is mortal, therefore certain aspects of my existence are bound by the rules which govern mortality. These needs are mostly physical. The need to drink, eat, sleep and so on. My mental and emotional facets, which are the structural seams of your realm, are very separate from anything experienced on the mortal plane. In simple terms, Morpheus, my dreams are out of your jurisdiction." Jesus deliberately left out some of the other mortal aspects to which he is also bound, such as his mortality. Thoughts which truly disturbed him intruded his mind, frolicked behind his eyes. He shuffled his posture and recomposed himself quicker than usual, regarding his guest, Morpheus the spinner of tales. His expression was the same, but a hood hung laboriously over his star-eyes, which were noticeably dimmer, and he seemed paler in skin, darker in cloak. It was plain to see that he was about to speak, and Jesus waited.
"If they are beyond my reach, how was it that I was able to come here?"
"People in need are free to seek me out, are drawn to me. You could've come here on your own because you needed to, or I lit the path for you because I felt you were in need."
"And what do I need, Son of the God of the Covenant?"
"I know what you need, but that isn't the point. The point is that you recognize what you need, and use your knowledge to somehow begin working your way towards it. With my assistance, of course, if you want it."
"Are your dreams a haven? Where none can intrude and you have privacy?"
At this, Jesus gave a slight chuckle. "You are here, are you not?"
Morpheus made a move to stand "If I intrude, I will leave you."
Jesus made no move to stop him, but spoke reproachfully. "No one who seeks my counsel or even simple conversation is an intruder. I implore you to sit and talk, Dream, but I will not prevent you from leaving."
The Sandman retook his seat in the shade, on the Garden ground. "You know what you mean to.all things that live? What responsibilities you have?"
"Of course. I cannot look at a mortal face, into their eyes, and not be reminded."
"Does that not bother you? Do you not feel entitled to your own choices, your own paths, where your own decisions are made and you take your own actions?"
"Yes, I'm distressed by it, but it must be."
"Why?"
Jesus' brow rose in surprise and mild perplexity. "You question Destiny, Morpheus? I would've thought that he would be understood by his own sibling."
Out of reflex, Morpheus' eyes flared in indignation. "Destiny is of unclear mind. He speaks sparingly and often in ambiguous terms."
"Destiny is the embodiment of choice and confliction. The future is not his to chronicle or hypothesize. The book that he clings to is not written in by his hand, and neither is it made of stone. What is written is not preordained; it is just what seems most likely to happen by whoever is reading the pages at the time."
Dream was shocked (although his expression changed just slightly, almost imperceptibly). "Is it not his function to tell what will come as time passes?"
"His function is to offer security in choice. If it is written in a book, and believed to be the sole outcome, then those who read the book, or are told what is in the book, are comforted because it would seem that someone, somewhere, has a handle on the future. He exists as part of a whole, and the task of that whole is to etch out a schematic of humanity. No human knows the future; therefore Destiny does not know the future. He offers a possibility of the future."
"So the future is nothing but chaotic possibility?"
"The future is what you want the future to be Morpheus."
"Why is it then that what is written in his book always comes to pass?"
"Because you believe it will, as he does. To believe in something, one must want it to exist. If you believe that Destiny's book records the future, you want it to record the future, so you choose to make your future coincide with what is written in his book. .Have you ever read the book?"
"No one can read the Book of Destiny but Destiny. He is bound to it, it is he, and he is it."
"A chain connected to one's wrist is hardly ever-binding. The Book is not a book, just as Destiny is not destiny; it is an idea of what a book chronicling the future should be. It is believed to be the Book of Destiny, and thus it is."
"I.I was always afraid to even glance at it, over his shoulder. He is very careful though. Never reading its pages unless he is alone or he is in the position to guard the words well."
"Remember, friend, that when reading a book, focus is taken by a single page. When finished reading a page, the page is turned, and the page of Destiny changes depending on what choices are made. The same holds true for the pages that are not being read at the time. They are constantly in flux."
"This is more distressing then comforting. It seems.safer, somehow, to know that things that should come to pass do, and everything is laid down leading to the horizon and we are just along for the ride."
"This is precisely why Destiny is there, to offer security in choice. Everyone is going on a ride, true, but it is up to them where they end up. It offers a comfort, though, to see guideposts along the way. However, just because the signs are there doesn't mean you have to follow their directions."
"You seem to follow the track that is laid out for you, Jesus. Always obeying what your Father asks of you."
"This is because I want to. And yes, I am afraid of what will happen and have no doubt that it will.hurt. Fear and pain are not reasons to not go through with what is meant to be done, which is why you ask me all of these questions about fate and eventuality, you fear what is in store for you, and you do not know what you will mean to the rest of the world."
Dream shoved away from the dark spotlight that the two sat under, lunging towards the bank of the river in outrage, wanting space to think, and distance from Jesus.
"Meaning?! What Meaning do I have? None! I am a bastion for unreal stories, of wishes and wants that are unfathomable outside of the bounds of the dreaming. I am home to the unspoken and the unsubstantiated. What I do or say or feel begins in sleep and ends with waking. I am perpetual forgetfulness."
"Meaning does not have to be external. And you are not forgotten, Morpheus. The specifics of dreams are most often left behind, but the feel of a dream resides in the dreamer, good or bad. They remembered that they dreamed, and they remember what it felt like. That has impact."
"Perhaps." When Dream gets truly irked, his responses whittle down to one word, and the temperature with which that word is spoken is well beyond freezing.
"You do not want to be Dream." It was not a question.
"No."
"You are not Dream. You are Morpheus. There is quite a difference."
"Yes, I know. I am an aspect of Dream, and in some ways, my own essence, but that doesn't mean I am no less responsible for the whole. I may be Morpheus, but I must do what is expected of Dream."
"And what is expected of you? You are the ruler of the land without limit. You are constrained only by imagination and thought."
"The imaginings are not my own, and the thinking is spent conjuring ways to keep the Dreaming sustained and efficient. I am the Prince of Stories, yes, but never is the story my own. I am always a character, never an author."
"There is but one author Morpheus, and to perform on his stage is to perform without a script. That is the whole point, after a fashion. You will do what you want to do, because you believe you can. And if you believe you can fulfill your duties as a facet of Dream while living as Morpheus, then that is what will happen. You are who you are, not the title that precedes you. You will one day cease to be Dream of the Endless, and simply be Morpheus, because that is where you want to go and what you want to do. The journey that leads to that resolution will be one of the great stories, and it will be your great story. You should take comfort in that."
Morpheus paused, reflecting. "How do you know that is what will happen?"
"Is it what you want to happen?"
"Yes."
"Then you believe it will happen, and it will come to pass."
"But under what circumstances?"
"The circumstances are similar in virtue to those which will lead to my ceasing to be Jesus of Nazareth and becoming Jesus the Christ. As I said before, fear and pain are no reasons for not doing something. That is all I will say."
Dream walked back under the tree shadow then, nodding in thanks. "I enjoyed speaking with you Jesus. It was.informative."
Jesus nodded back as he stood. He bade Morpheus to walk beside him along the bank of the river. "Morning comes Dream King, and I wake, but our conversation will not be forgotten. I have ensured you safe passage back to your realm."
Morpheus showed that he could smile, which is something he painstakingly kept under wraps, but he reasoned that if anyone needed a smile, it would be his host, and he just plain felt like smiling. He also had a very insistent intuition that this would be perhaps the last time he would be in the presence of Jesus, so he might as well get everything out in the open.
"I admire and respect you. And I thank you for your company."
The smile of Dream was granted a mirror in the expression of the son of Mary and Joseph. "You are permitted my company whenever you please Morpheus. Although, I do ask that you wait for invitation at the boundary of my dreams. You were right in assuming that my dreams are a haven-of sorts-and there are some things that I wish to keep to me, or that are only meant for me."
"Of course Jesus, it is the least I could do."
"Then I wish you well in your walking of the paths."
"You as well, for what it's worth." Morpheus faded from the dream, with the image of a smile and remembrance of kind, articulate and thoughtful words to help him make his choices, and follow through with them.
Jesus stayed in the garden, by the river, admiring what lay around him as it was roused by the light of morning. The smile he gave Morpheus did not change when his guest left, neither did it leave his face as he left his dreamscape for the waking world, stirred by an insistent hand impressing upon his shoulder. In fact, Jesus' smile was the first sign that he gave the persistent Judas when he awoke.