The room is dark, as usual – untidy bed, messed papers on the desk. It's cold – window open. The alarm clock is driving me out of my mind. I feel cold's claws clench my shivering body, but the feeling fades, along with the sound of the alarm, as I do, indeed, release myself from my mind. I let myself sink, deeper, right into the Earth itself, seeping far and spreading wide as I ripple further and further into scared depths unfathomed. The Earth's pulse resonates rhythmically through me, and I well with its tides, breathing in its light. Swells of Earth's expression envelop me, like music heavenly to behold, each slowly passing only for another wave to take its place, playing its opus, as old as time, for whomever cares to listen.

But, as I delve deeper into these dimensions uncharted, hopeful fostered bliss, dark ominous clouds collude above, casting shadows and searching for conflict, seeking to conquer this harmonious state. I search wildly for an opening above, a way out, passed the menacing storm, which, as it prepares its attack, cries out boldly in fury and defiance. The light in which my soul so freely floated slowly fades as the darkness and dread approaches fervidly and with imperishable force, diminishing all in its void.

I open my eyes and stare around the room. The darkness of my dreams does not retract its tenancy within me, but continues to hang from my heart, stimulating a familiar series of thoughts and feelings. I rise and make my way towards the door. I have forgotten what time it is. I open the door and feel my way through the caressing darkness. Broken light, an intruder through the window, dances in pools before me. My footsteps destruct silence as I sulk towards the back door. I find the street outside empty, dark and dismal, just for me. Luckily, I do not meet anyone. They are each of them everyone, and yet I am myself, alone. A wrecked light flickers hesitantly in the distance, but darkness soon overcomes it. I march across the street, onto an open field, and to the nearby river. I sit down, my clothes digesting the ubiquitous dewdrops as they welcome me into the gloom. For a while I sit here, thoughts meandering restlessly, entertaining the angst that has assailed my soul - the angst which now laughs in bitter amusement as it assumes control over me.

There is movement nearby, and for a second I am startled; my senses stir and then quickly quiet. I hear the river flowing, rippling across small, smooth rocks; the sound is fresh and distinct. There is a tree nearby, and beneath it I can make out a series of flowers as they rest, unassumingly, still and silent. The tree, too, stands boldly, but in casual calm, breathing, being, but nothing more. I am thrilled by these sensations, as part of me reflects their calm nature, and as that very nature within me stretches its light out, piercing the darkness that clouds my heart. But, Darkness takes its stand, sending its diminishing screeches forth, shaking foundations, and echoing through me. For a moment I can no longer hear the river, nor see the trees, trapped and treading in a pool of troubled thoughts as this darkness beseeches me. It bends me and breaks my hope, sending Light deep into abysmal confines, unreachable by human will. But, then I find myself again, and I am breathing and hearing the river once more and seeing the trees. As I breathe out completely, expelling stale air from my lungs, I laugh. At first, it is only a giggle, as I am afraid to laugh fully, but before long I am producing tremendous roars, howling in joy to the delight of the moon and stars and visiting light that comes from them, weary from the long journey. "How can we be so ignoring of the rivers and trees?" I wonder in minor euphoria. "And of the flowers and the little wriggly things that excite the soil?"

Sometimes we are so appreciative of what springs forth from dull minds in pure abstraction, that we forget even that we are eating dessert, or talking to a friend. The endless rain of conceiving and theorizing poured forth from the cloudy mind drenches through with despair the light that should emanate from the bliss reachable within us - the bliss that is so easily inspired by the heavenly arts around us. It is only to this light that we should give countenance, even though the darkness may try to persuade us so to think that it is right instead.