She would fall asleep within a forest of ideas. Her mind would come alive, and she would walk softly through the darkness, allowing the light of her awareness to fall upon the silent stems as they bent toward her. They never offered her more than the simple fact that they were there, and that she was welcome to meander there. All this in contrast to the waking world, where everything and everyone seemed to rush passed her; suggestions, clocks, grinning promise and the tribes folk as they polished their teeth and pulled back tight their hair. So tall, all of them so tall. Alluring her to reach for them and their plans for her. Emotions would rattle her, though no origins did they boast from within her own heart.
And eventually she would reach, though no path led upward from her own feet.
She would fall asleep within a forest of ideas. Her mind would come alive, and she would be compelled toward the darkness, where nothing snatched at her from behind glistening teeth. But the trees were expansive, their roots were deep. And always she would come to tire of the darkness, and stopping to rest, place a hand on a towering trunk that all at once kissed the sky and nourished the deep earth. Her mind would fill in an instant with a rushing inspiration of unfathomable scope, and inside her chest, volcanos.
If only she could remember, when she woke, and the world roared around her again - that she was a forest, and a darkness, and a fierceness grew there, and it existed only because she did, because it was her, and she was tall. And she could see, and she could grow, and she could delve deep and fill the endless spaces with eruptions from her heart.
If only she could remember.