Realisation

My dream –

On a bed of rumpled cotton sheets, a man and a woman lie naked, just after love, their bodies touching, their fingers intertwined, looking up towards the ceiling of a small room on a late afternoon, an electric fan whirring from atop the low fridge nearby, somewhere in a real world.

You and me.

‘It keeps getting better. I can’t believe it’s real.’

‘You can’t believe, or you don’t believe? Or is it real at all?’

‘Of course it’s real. You just fucked my brains out. We’re lying next to one another.’

‘And that’s what makes it real? That we are here together? Could this not just be your fantasy, or mine?’

‘Fantasy is imagined. This is real.’

Disengaging your fingers from mine, you reach over and grab my cock, lifting it up.

‘This is real.’

‘Then where are we? How did we get here? What happens next? We are together now, obviously, but you came from Beijing, and I came from Manila. You are Chinese. I am Welsh. What brought us to this moment, this place?’

‘We are in that place which we believed to be, both of us. You’re right, fantasy lives in the imagination. Reality must be believed to make it real.’

‘The reality beyond this time and place is only real in its physicality, in its material manifestation. The rest is fancy, fallacy, misapprehension. Everything beyond us, right now, right here, flatters taste but feeds not; everything, but swollen insufficiencies swallowed as names of better things.’

‘Why are we not “socially distanced” from one another? There is no virus here. We are guilty of no contrivance, no deception, no hurt. No crime committed; no fateful retribution required. Justice is illusory; right is real. Good and bad are illusory; equitability is real. Treatment and cure are illusory; health is real. Wealth is illusory; debt is real. Having is holding it in your hand; having not, is holding not. Reality is destiny granted actuality, substantiality. It cannot be coerced, cajoled, or counted on. Only belief will make it so.’

‘So is this real, really?’

Reaching over, I cup my hand on your pussy.

‘It feels real to me.’

‘So what happens next, if we are only here, right now, because we believe ourselves to be?’

‘We have not come this far only to come this far. We made this happen. We can continue as we wish. It’s between you and me. Our reality is our own. It is as real as we believe it to be.’

‘What if someone else finds out? I am married.’

‘Is he, are they, going to believe that somewhere between Beijing and Manila, on a mid-week afternoon, that we spent three hours fucking? I doubt that. Especially as you never never the house, nor did I.’

‘Aren’t we just as guilty, though, for doing it in our minds?’

‘How could I fuck you with my mind? That would be impossible. Your hand is still holding my cock. My hand is still on your pussy. You told me you believed that this was real, that it is real. Is it real, or not? If it is real, then we have yet to be discovered in the act; so let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, if we ever get to it, which we will not.’

‘So we can continue to meet and talk and fuck and everything else we do every day, and get away with it?’

‘There is no getting away with anything. Everyone gets exactly what he or she deserves. The virus does not exist between us, because in our world there is no avarice, there is no fraudulence, there is nothing toxic whatsoever. We love each other with a love that reaches but doesn’t grasp; a love that embraces, but doesn’t cling. You are not mine; I am not yours. We are together, because we want to be. We want equally to be.’

‘Life does not give itself to one to tries to keep all of its advantages at once. To be with you, I give up that time and place where you are not. You do the same, to be with me. And what is the duration of that time? What are the coordinates of that place? If they collide upon reality, wherein lies that reality? Only the coincidence of truth and magic could make it so; both of us magicians, realising our own destiny’s fulfilment.’

‘You’re right, no one would believe us, anyway.’

‘They live in a world of identification, of definition. We live in a world where new fires are, colours unseen, passions innumerable, which need to be given reality. In their world, the struggle never ends. The oppression of caution, the tyranny of the uninspired, the bondage of convention, all are manifestations of their mortal enemy – fear. Ours world is one of courage, movement, laughter, and love, all unfettered, all obsessed.’

‘Now you’re sounding more like the poet I know and love. You had me worried for a moment. You were venturing into philosophy.’

‘See, though we have never really met, we know each other. Did you know me before you felt me? No, you did not. I don’t care what you know ’til I know that you care. Caring is feeling. We shared our feelings, both of us. We shared them until we believed them, until they became reality. The love between us is our creation. We felt it into being. We sensed it into perception. We believed it to be real. And here we are.’

Still holding my cock, you put your other hand on mine, encouragingly, as I began to finger anew your pussy. I was getting harder.

‘Enough talk. Let’s fuck again before we go.’

‘Good idea.’

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