Sleeping on the backdeck by the dog. Dreams by the backdeck dog made of glass below the glass sky. There is no substance to the sky, yet in dreams the sky is made of glass or crystal through which the dog on the backdeck and I can swim as if through water, but it is glass, nothing but crystal glass upon which the glittering gems of the stars and the planets are placed one by one in their myriad billions.
I am glass, the dog is glass, the sky is glass and the stars are placed one by one as gems on velvet cloth. Some are blue, some are white, some are red and green and orange and yellow. There are planets roaming through the crystal sky and now and then a shooting star shoots and dazzles and fizzles away. That is the sky.
And when the sky and the dog and I are whacked, sometimes by the shooting stars falling in the sky, we shatter like glass and fall to the ground in glittering shards like the stars in the sky placed one by one on the black velvet cloth of eternity.
Reconstituting themselves, putting themselves together, the sky and the dog and I return to our places in the dreams on the backdeck after bhikkhuing through unfamiliar neighborhoods of sharp edges and shallow angles.
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