On a night like any other, though a little different than before. In his bed, a little boy lay
half asleep, when a plant knocked at his door.

Half asleep, is a very ordinary place for little boys to be. Half here, half there, not quite
anywhere really, but somewhere in-between.

Again, came a knock.

The little boy thought come in, come in! To whomever the knock at his door
might have been.

Before him, a plant. A plant? “A plant,” said the boy. It felt like meeting himself at the door,
or someone, or something he’d met once before.

He knew this was no ordinary plant.

“Who are you? ” The boy half questioned, unsure why he would. The plant said nothing of
course, as plants often should.

This plant didn’t have to answer to speak. Magic never makes a sound. You have to be
still to find it, you have to listen to see.

And the plant stayed still.

As if it were here to share a secret. As if it were calling his name, or offering the little boy
a chance to see why it came.

Then the invocation.

Before him, a doorway. One breath, two breaths, three. Humming somethings, through
the doorway, a world. Twisting and bending, wanting to be seen.

He blinked once and the world rushed through. The door was wide open now.

Terrified, the boy turned to the plant. “Why am I here? What have you done? Where am I
now? What has begun?”

Then the plant spoke, as plants often should.

“Perplexity patterns await you,
mystery etched into line,
endlessness time in a moment,
endlessness moments in time.

Geometry folds on itself here,
this magic knows no law of land,
secrets reveal their source here,
surrender and offer your hand.

This is a something I’ll give you,
this is how magic is done,
you’ve been here a million times,
lifetimes and lifetimes in one.”

And that’s when it hit him, it all became real, and he knew. This place was different. This
place was unreal. This place was a place of perfect surreal.

This was a something.

The boy, now a sleeper in the dream of a dream. Somethings and everythings happening
at once. Unfolding, unscrambling, untangling before him, right here, in this dream of a dream.

This was a something, an infinite something he’d not seen before.
Except now he had, and the boy was in awe.

And like that, the world fell back together. Reforming, restoring, realigning before him.
One breath, two breaths, three.

Falling back into his bed again, he knew, The world should know too.

But how? I don’t know how to show them. I don’t know how they’ll see. I don’t know how to
show them when I am only me.

The plant spoke again,

“What is it you fear when it’s all but a dream?
One isn’t alone in this dream of a dream.
This door is now closing, but you know where to find me,
I am the keeper of secrets: One breath, two breaths, three.”

The little boy said nothing at all, as little boys often do. For he didn’t have to answer to
know, but it clicked and knew what he knew. It clicked, and he knew what to do.

With eyes that were clear, with eyes that were new. With eyes that now knew what eyes
ought to do.

“You are the sleeper in the dream of a dream” the plant whispered, tugging and pulling
the thread of the dream.

Exposing a secret. Unraveling the seam.