The king of dreams is on my mind. Again, as in these past weeks. Technically, he came by before I started on the Sandman, but I’ve found out he one of likes what Neil Gaiman did. ‘He’s gone quite far, that one, ‘he said, ‘And I am grateful ‘. He seems sad at times, pensive or thoughtful, and he provokes that high pitched noise in my ears.
His presence carries you off, it’s not the presence that alerts or disciplines you. It lulls, it makes you go places.
‘Oneiroi ‘he whispers, ‘Oneiroi’. The Romans would say, Somnia. Dreams. He likes the Greek word better, and makes music around it , playing with keys, tones and midtones.
And you’re gone. Swept off. Swept away. Vanished.
That’s the magic of Morpheus, the king of Dreaming. That’s the magic of the one they call the Sandman.
If he had a tattoo, that’s the word.
Let me carry you.
Let me transport you.
Let me take you where I am.