Dreaming on the Shores of Consciousness (Part I)

Let's try this...

Horus was a dreamer.  He often spent his days lying on the beach just listening to crashing of the waves.  He didn't actually lay directly on the sand.  That would be too much for his sensitive skin.  No, he lay on an especially soft towel, one found at a five-star hotel in Times Square.  As his body lay perfectly still underneath a bright yellow canvas parasol, his mind would soar.

His subconscious would take him to heights only young children could imagine.  Without a stamp on his passport, he could fly to the most exotic locale.  He had tamed lions, though hippopotami were far more stubborn.  He had taught a young Dalit girl how to ice skate from one rainbow to the next.  He even went as far as to convince the moon to take him fishing for starfish and butterflies.

Today Horus' head would take him somewhere he had never been: the edge of the horizon.  He had always wondered what he would find there, who could live there, and what it was really like.  Could the world really be as round as Columbus would make us believe?  Surely there's a thin line at the end of the beach where the sun goes to sleep.  He remembers the moon making mention of it once while they skipped rocks on the sea.  "How I long for a day when there is room enough on the horizon's edge for everyone, even small boys like yourself to enjoy its many wonders," she had said.  Horus hadn't asked the moon what she meant; no he had learned long before that one's own discovery and individual feelings of a time and place are the only true ways to experience them.  Another's words are nice, but individuals can only express an experience so well before it becomes clouded in their biases.

So it was decided.  Today, while the moon was taking her nap, Horus would sail to the ocean's edge and discover the horizon for himself.