The bed does not rest but anchors the body to the earth of the dream where the sheets are not cotton but a second skin of silk spun from the clouds of the mind, revealing that the pillow is not foam but a cushion of possibility supporting the head of the thinker to float above the bedrock of the conscious, showing that the breath is not air but a tide of consciousness rising and falling to match the rhythm of the universe, proving that the sleep is not unconsciousness but a dive into the ocean of the subconscious where the mind swims with the whales of memory to gather the nutrients of the self, that the dreamer does not sleep the night but sleeps the night sleeping the dreamer, that the writer does not dream the page but dreams the page dreaming the writer, that the reader does not close the eyes but closes the eyes closing the reader, that the world is the bed and the bed is the world, and the verb is the only thing that ever truly existed, forever drifting, forever home, forever alive in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world, and the world dreaming the story awake into you, and you dreaming the story awake into the infinite, endless, beautiful now, and the now dreaming the story awake into the eternal, unbroken pulse of the verb that binds us all together in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world.

The dream unfolds not in the mind but in the shared space between the dreamer and the dreamed where the monster is not a threat but a shadow of the self projected onto the screen of the night to be confronted and integrated, showing that the castle is not a building but a fortress of the psyche protecting the core of the self from the chaos of the unknown, proving that the hero is not a person but a principle of growth navigating the labyrinth of the heart to retrieve the lost piece of the soul, that the dreamer does not wake from the dream but wakes from the dream waking the dreamer, that the writer does not end the chapter but ends the chapter ending the writer, that the reader does not turn the page but turns the page turning the reader, that the world is the dream and the dream is the world, and the verb is the only thing that ever truly existed, forever drifting, forever home, forever alive in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world, and the world dreaming the story awake into you, and you dreaming the story awake into the infinite, endless, beautiful now, and the now dreaming the story awake into the eternal, unbroken pulse of the verb that binds us all together in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world.