I embarked upon a journey through my mind one night.  I honestly hadn’t planned to when I went to bed that evening.  There was no real purpose to it, or motive.  No crisis pulled at me, demanding my attention.  I simply recognized where I was as I dreamed, and I knew that the time was right for this rather unusual tour of my own identity.

I remember vividly the loose, arid dirt crunching softly beneath my feet as I walked among the shadows on the outskirts of my consciousness.  No sounds could be heard of wind or noise—only the pressing silence and the hint of hushed voices in the quiet light ahead of me.  The stillness seemed appropriate in such a dark and muted place.  I couldn’t help but wonder if things picked up around here during my waking hours.  I imagined they did.

Walking into the soft light, I marveled at the aged metalwork and scaffolding all around, knowing they were the very foundations of my own psyche.  The detail was astonishing, even down to the flakes of rust forming on the bolts and rivet work.  Towering I-beams supported walls of steel that, together, soared above my head, reaching high into the darkness above.  The awesome structure was lit only by the occasional incandescent bulb hanging on its cord, its light falling in a cold and indifferent, cone-shaped cast.  Though careworn and utilitarian, the place exuded more a sense of seasoned use than that of decay, like a construction site that never fully saw completion.

I thought about how lonely the place might have been, were it not for the other people surrounding me.  They were everywhere in various niches and alcoves all around.  Many, I noticed, were curled up in blankets, fast asleep while others lingered about. 

These, I surmised, must be the people within me.  These are the many and sundry facets of my own personality, made manifest in assortments of character traits that I possess to some greater or lesser degree.  These are the voices inside me who determine what manner of man I am.  Everything I do, how I act and react in day-to-day life, my temperament and reason—all of it is orchestrated by this collection of individuals working in concert one with another, and often against.

To say they were diverse would be an understatement.  There were all manner of people to be found—tall and short, large and thin, light and dark, male and female, all dressed in a quagmire of style and color ranging from the mundane to the exotic.  Until that moment, I’d had no idea of the complexity and paradoxism that lay within myself, all vying to be heard, each in their own way and with their own voice.

I saw that most lay at rest as I continued my unassuming stroll between the castings of light and shadow, but many others were still active, either alone or speaking together softly in small groups.  Though I made no secret of my presence, I did nothing to call particular attention to myself, either.  If anyone saw me, they paid too little attention to make any acknowledgment.  Seeing this, I smiled inwardly at their oblivious nature to what walked among them that night. 

For, I am the culmination.  I am that which is greater than the sum of their parts.  I am the whole, whose capacity ascends far beyond any of their limited comprehension.  Even as I pondered these things, my private thoughts of ego and self-grandeur amused me.  I felt empowered and significant, far more so than I ever did in the outside world.  Here I was not just a simple man living the work-a-day life.  Here I wielded the effective potency and influence of a god.

Knowing this, I made an offhanded inspection of each person as I passed by, wondering at the purpose they each served.  I knew that for good or for ill, each one contributed a certain trait that answered a need or void that would otherwise gape openly in my soul.

Everything seemed to be in order.  Nothing I saw took me by surprise or confounded my senses.  After all, I knew myself.  I knew who I was—all my strengths and shortcomings that would undoubtedly shock so many others, were they themselves to take this same stroll though my mind.  For me, there were no unexpected insights to be found or galling epiphanies to be uncovered by my journey.

All was as it should be.

But wait.  No, that wasn’t true.  Who was this man on his knees in the shaft of light before me, sobbing as if he had never known so much as a morsel of joy?  What did he represent inside me?  Was he unique, or was he one of many I had yet to discover, lost and neglected in the vastness of this place?  How was it that I had missed him in my conscious state?  It seemed the definitive cruelty that such anguish was allowed to continue, even though I knew that his wailing was but a single voice in a chorus—one among thousands.

I reached down to raise his crestfallen face only to find that he had no eyes.  Curious at this, I determined in short time that he had no use for any.  After all, what good are eyes to a man who has nothing worthwhile to see?  I realized I was witness to the manifestation of a character flaw within myself that needed correction.  Somehow, I lacked a certain something whose absence was the direct cause of this man’s suffering.

I’d known my time in this place was transitory.  All too soon, the world outside would call for my return, and I would wake to become but one voice in a chorus of thousands, myself.  It was true that this particular character flaw was small and subtle in the grand picture of my psyche, its nature suggesting that it would eventually correct itself in the normal course of living my conscious life.  Indeed, outwardly I would appear to be the same person with or without it.

And yet, at this very moment, I was not standing in the grand picture.  There was nothing small or subtle about this flaw and the way it afflicted this man on his knees before me.  While I was there, I could easily rectify in mere moments what could possibly take years to correct through experience learned from the real world.

That was when she emerged from the shadows.  In my reckoning, I’d created her.  I created her for him—to fulfill his particular needs.  I created her for him to see, as she was destined to be all he ever saw.  It was a precise match no less than a two-piece jigsaw puzzle, and just as effortless to solve with the higher reasoning I brought with me to this place.

Tight spiral ringlets of dark brown framed her porcelain face.  Lips the color of cherries pressed together in a thin smile turned my way.  A trace fragrance of perfume filled my nostrils, and all things so rapturously feminine assaulted my senses, but none more startling than her clear, ocean blue eyes framed all around by unsullied white. 

Even so, what was most remarkable was how they stared back at me in recognition of who I was and what I had just done.  Of all those whom I had seen that night, she was the only one who knew.  She was the only one who understood, and acknowledged my presence.

Shame filled my being as I realized how suddenly envious I was of this man, about to be coupled with such an arresting creature as she.  I saw in his newly fashioned eyes—a byproduct of her very existence—the timeless yearning he harbored to be with her.  He was in earnest, and yet I determined that I must postpone their union for my own selfish ends.

I took her by the hand, and led her to a wooden table nearby.  Using both hands to hoist herself up, she sat on the table’s edge, and looked at me expectantly, those blue eyes of hers sparkling in the quiet light.  I paced, searching for the right words meant to express myself, but at the same time mindful not to offend.  They were difficult in coming, to say the least.

“Thank you,” she offered, breaking the silence for me.

I looked up to find her amiable smile broaden even more.  She must have guessed at my quandary. 

“Thank you for helping my love,” she explained, her voice as joyful as her expression.

“I shouldn’t feel this way,” I confessed.  “Not about you.  Not about him.”

Those crisp blue eyes looking into mine, she stroked my cheek with the back of her fingers.  Her touch was that of fine silk against my skin.

“Your feelings are your own to keep.”

The sympathy in her voice was palpable.  I truly believed that she understood my plight, effectively negating my pitiable attempt to voice it properly. 

In the time that remained to me, she and I talked about the future of this world in which she was about to become an integral part.  We talked about her future with the man who was now standing tall in the distant light, his gaze never once leaving her even as we spoke.  She was destined to be his mate, after a fashion, and I knew that once I left, it would be so forever.

It seemed that mere moments had passed before the time arrived for me to depart, and I was immeasurably loath to do so.  In taking my leave, I said the only parting words I could think of to say.

“It was an honor for me to spend this time with you.”

“An honor for you?” she responded in winsome disbelief.  “How do you think I feel?”

Even as my soul ached, I couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the irony the situation presented.  This whole time, her deliberate composure and self-confidence had flawlessly overshadowed any awe she might have felt during our conversation… over meeting her creator.

“Will I ever see you again?” I asked, taking her hands in mine one last time.

“I’m with you every day,” she whispered her reply.  It was, of course, the answer I had fully expected to hear her speak, even before I asked.

“It’s not the same,” I muttered.

Sliding from the table’s edge, she gave my hands one last gentle squeeze before letting go.  It was a gesture of kindness, that.  As I watched her, however, I realized that this particular sentiment was something she could never understand.  No mere fragment of my psyche could.

Standing there, I watched my creation at last unite with the man—the very sake for which she was created.  My last memory of her was of lively brown ringlets bouncing in time with her footfalls as she ran into the arms of her love.

Night turned to day, and I knew my time in that place was finally at an end.  The real world waited for me, as did my wife and children.  It was Monday, and I had an early meeting at the office.  Once again, my voice was added to those of my true surroundings.  Even as the vivid realism of the dream faded, I imagined she was there somewhere inside fulfilling that part of me that so desperately needed her.  As I glimpsed at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, I wondered if she might be staring back at me.

She had no name.  To give her one would have made her a little too real, as would the parting angst I’d felt that is now but a distant memory.  To this day, I fancy she still remains a part of me—a voice among thousands.

Even as I. 

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