Things In The Depths


Seeing him in his Real form is like looking at black stars. His skin glitters in the darkness. He is tall and terrible and rake-thin like a panther stretched in a tree. His shoulders are jilted to the side, as if he can't decide whether he has any more to say to me or not. His electric, ebony hair lightly shadows the tips of his eyes.

Not nearly enough to hide them from me.

Silver beams from his black pupils. If it weren't for the silver, his eyes would glow and blur and melt and fade and reshape beyond my visibility. Visions dance behind his lids. Revelations exist between his pale fingertips.

He is clothed in the texture of black and violet and indigo shadows. From what I gather of the material and shape.

He is proud and he is powerful with his torso thrown back. Whoever you are, he's everything you ever really wanted to see in a man. Compassion drifts in and out of those eyes.

That is what you see. What I am watching.


There is a pulsing, deep, rhythm that accompanies him. It is dark, but it travels with grace, and is quick in its depth and unceasing. He is not the dark rhythm. He is the arching, white note that hits the rhythm, creating the song. Hope weaves itself once the song sings. Life assures its promise.

This is what you hear. What I am listening to. It is enough to fill a soul and overflow with tears…of joy, maybe. Of stories, at least.


He exudes mystery, first. Then revelation. The tracings to what is created in the dark. The potential libraries. The possible galleries. Your ideas, before they happen, are birthed in his sands. He has authority in places you will never travel to. He has influence over beings you may have dreamed of. His name is revered, and he is very old. The power held in the palm of his hand can drench dynasties and keep us sane.

This is what you realize. What I am knowing. And if it's true, then everything we think we know is a lie. It means the world's about as reliable and solid as a layer of scum on top of a well of black water, which goes on forever, and there are things in the depths.


It takes a strong heart to make it past the realization. To the feelings. He does not enjoy showing them. He is a beautiful, cold star. He is proud, and he is powerful. And he is quite lonely. You can hear it in the way he speaks—soft and clear and distant. You can feel it when he touches you…tenderly he carries you to where you need to be. He does not know why the gentleness springs when he carries a sleeping youth out of his realm. He does not always know he's lonely.

But it comes along with sadness whenever he meets someone that will not remember him later.

At other times, he feels empathy. The way he sits, sometimes, in jeans and a t-shirt, knees to his chest; his eyes bright and soft, the slightest hint of a smile at his lips as he listens.

And there are many other feelings that travel with this man. Distance, justice, mercy, vengeance, hope, anger, perseverance, compulsion, nostalgia…Decisions that become heart reactions, along the way. All of them.

This is what you feel. This is what my heart speaks when I see him. And I hope and beg that he finds love he unmindfully yearns for.


That is Morpheus. Oneiros. Kai'ckul. The Sand Man. King of Dreams. He is very present; he is very real. You must know it in your bones. And if he can, he will save you; should you need saving. He walks this place with his rhythm, observing and giving…all the time.

Maybe you'll recognize him someday in the diner or the park. You'll see a quiet man in the almost shadow-corner with edge-black hair and piercing, blurring black eyes. Wearing a suit tailored to his towering frame, or a purple t-shirt that reveals arms the color of snow.

You'll know it's him because you've seen him somewhere before…you'll swear it's a déjà vu. But you could never place a time.

Don't thank him for what he does. He already knows you're grateful—though you may not know what for. Instead, ask him how he's doing. Tell him about your thoughts and let him know who you are. Chances are, you won't see him again anyway. Although he'll see you—and he'll remember you, and be glad.


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