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I don't lie much. I lie only when I sleep. And when I'm ill. Fortunately I'm ill very seldom. When I was young I used to lie more. I was ill more often. I used to take sun in summer. Now I haven't been taking sun for long. I haven't been ill for long. With no doubt the time will come, when I will lie more. I will be ill. Maybe I will begin to take sun again? Who knows? Or maybe everything will happen differently. Will turn, will roll . . . . . Lying is not appreciated here. Lying is considered a simple waste of time. Provided that time can be wasted. Not much can be done while lying. Lying supine on a meadow I can observe the sky and birds, butterflies and stars flying in it. Lying face down on a meadow I can observe rushing ants and beetles clumsily climbing grass stems, but I can't peep what's going on in the ground. Lying face down on water I could observe the mysterious life of fish, if the water is translucent, or if I had the ability to see through the muddy maelstroms of this world. I don't lie, because if I lay I would fall asleep, and if I fell asleep, I would at once start dreaming, and the worlds of my dreams are too lush and unbridled, so I prefer the lushness and unbridledness of the real world, for here I can at least have an illusion I rule the world of my dreams. Yet I must admit that there I can wake up and disperse all those nightmares, sweet or bitter, while I can't do that here. I like to fall asleep and to wake up. I don't like to sleep. I don't like to be sleepy. I would like to sleep as fast as possible. |-------| |