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In my dreams it comes to me, leaping from the dark corner of my mind that hides all the things I would rather forget. I try to ignore it, but it has the persistence of a million gnats. In vain, my subconscious throws up defensive screen. It knows me in all my guises - warrior, lover, carouser - and it hungers for me. I never see the shape of the cat. It never shows itself as the sleek, black-furred, ruthless predator I judge myself against each waking moment. It comes as the specter I most fear and as the object of my greatest desire. It rushes through my blood like adrenaline before combat, sweeping me high above my enemies. From my superior position I sneer down at those others's pathetic attempts at victory. Those others will never feel the intense, glorious sensations overwhelming my mind and body - the air smells impossibly crisp and clean, blades of grass caress my bare feet in a tantalizing embrace, I see each pinion of the brilliant emerald feathers of my rivals as they fall upon their foes. I have surpassed even the great birds. None can assail me. Like Icarus I fly, higher and higher, until, like Icarus, I fall. The wind burns my cheeks, my eyes fill with water, the ground opens up like a gaping maw to swallow me - I fall back into my weak, cluttered mind. And another shape stirs in the dark corner of my subconscious. |
