The weary couch again accepts a body's torpid plop. Contours sigh in resignation, yielding to the tired rite; its cushion long past pressed into a sunken mass. Slumber swiftly, surely ensues, granting sentience craven respite. *********** "Depression is illusion." A subtle voice infusion disturbs the vacant sleeper's inert realm. "You've squelched your vital Spirit's elf, ignoring every holy prompt; by hiding you deny Her life. She's languid, dying, hear me: Life lives only in Love. She's crying, 'Do not fear me!'" The voice grows vigorous, commanding spellbound audience. Our startled dreamer harkens, heeds - he hears a shaman sowing seeds. "Sacred Mint balm revives. Dead love transmutes through Her. You must eat Her essence live, verdant where you woo Her. "Chew Her under your tongue. Do not think about it. Absorb emerald awe. It voids every thoughtstream. Feel fresh force quickly spark each cell's viscous liquid. Gravity dissipates, But you're left in her leaves. "Apt osmosis is Her prayer. Open wide where you're aware. Breathe in Spirit light like air." *********** Nervous system juices jolt electric, propelling their ecstatic host from his false death bed nightmare. Body portals pulsate, fling wide open, voicing joyful elegy to gasp of ego straining to contain the eager energy expulsion sure to surge beyond its system's limit. Frenzied atoms whirl in fevered orbit; separate entities, nevertheless choired urgent union chanting, silent burning and incanting, supplicating an ensured release from body's bounds. The throng is loosed in pure angelic blast - searing with vitalities that shatter mortal cast, roaring now awaring how minutest thought redounds on every subtle speck in this vibrant universe. They stream until they still where future passed, planting possibility in vast akashic grounds. Green seedlings germinate in them, sprouting viny verse.