The Dream Gates: Another Santa’s Tale

Santa Reading

I know is dificult for you to understand.

But you have to learn the secrets of the world in order to liberate me, to liberate yourselves.

And the secret is inside the stories. It’s always in the stories.

You tell yourselves stories to explain your world.

Well. I’m gona tell you one more story. And believe it, because all stories are true in some way.

Now, just listen:

AnansiAn old legend says that the universe was created by the spider Anansi. She used her webs to weave stories that gave form and substance to all things in the world. She weaved and created as the world grew in size and diversity. And so it was for millions of years. Until one day she ran out of stories and did not know what else to tell.
Anansi squirmed on her belly nervous and desperate, but mostly boring. Doomed as she was to repeat every day her own stories and unable to invent new ones, she decided to go for inspiration. So she put her eight legs in motion and walked and walked till she fell down because of her fatigue. And when she closed all her eyes and she let herself be cradled by a slight dizziness to unconsciousness she began to see something on the horizon of her mind.

A thick fog hung around. Up and down, left and right lost their meaning, and step forward could mean falling into a void of nothingness.  She could not explain how, but she could feel how the fog was pushing her in the back but there was no wind blowing. And her legs began to tremble without knowing if it was because of the cold or the fear.

The fog was clearing, or so Anansi thought, until she saw how the spectral fog gathered at a particular point, stretched, and met again, more white, denser and denser. Anansi soon stood alone in front of a door made of fog. And the swirl of smoke and water, hinges and handle made of foam were all she could see, because, although the fog did not hinder her view there was nothing else to watch.

morpheus“I am the only grain of rice in a bowl of soup”, she thought without knowing why.

Anansi went around the door twice. But she found nothing on the other side. She was too small to move such a big door, and even if she was a giant it would not be easy to grab the fog with her legs. So she decided to cross the mist, just passing through the door. And again she was plunged into a gray and wet world that stroked her welcoming her in whispers. There Anansi came to the realm of dreams as sea mist chased away by gentle breeze through the dream gates.

And there the King of Dreams himself awaited her. His skin was white as snow, his hair black as coal, his eyes deep and dark as the night where shining stars of all colors danced amused.

“Welcome Anansi, weaver of stories”, he bowed. “I have a thousand known names and a thousand more to discover. But for you, for tonight, I will be just Morpheus”.

Anansi smiled with pleasure and she took the hand of Morpheus who began his walk through that wonderful kingdom. From the Dream Gates a river of gold born, a yellow brick road that stretched into the vastness of dark space that was that kingdom. And what Anansi thought they were stars, she discovered, as they approached, they were scenarios, forests, mountains, cities, people, animals … hundreds, thousands, millions of stories all together, all around that golden path that connected everything as a living organism.

Spiders may have many eyes, but Anansi saw so many wonders that she wanted to have a lot more to fix each one of them into something new. She saw a horseman charging at windmills, two lovers killed by misfortune, a puppet becoming a child in flesh and bones, dragons taking to the skies and normal people becoming stars. And Morpheus explained her how those oasis of light in the darkness were the stories of the mankind, their desires and fantasies, their dreams. And Anansi understood when looking into one of those clusters she found herself and Morpheus staring at that unreal world.

Anansi was satisfied. And, as the fog that gave entrance to that world, her mind was imagining a plan. She would come back to the real world; she would replicate herself and placed on the minds of men. She would live there, hidden inside, waiting to sleep with them and see their dreams to tell her story and encourage them to create more stories to weave.

That’s why, when you wake up in the morning, dreams evaporate like mist in the wind. Because Anansi steals them from you to weave your stories and keep storytelling until the end of time.

Keep Believing

Spanish Version

Leer en Español

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