Work Text:
Alhaitham did not care for dreams. Mainly, because he had few positive associations with them since his happy childhood dreams had faded into obscurity a long time ago, while his years with the Akasha were devoid of dreams.
His recent forays into the realm of dreams were less inspiring than for most other people. Alhaitham’s dreams seemed to mostly consist of work, where he was hounded by countless incompetent staff members that wanted him to solve their many problems.
In one particularly nasty dream, Alhaitham had to fill out a form to remove the pack of Sumpter beasts grazing in the library. First, he spent an eternity chasing down the form, because every time he found it, it got promptly eaten by a stray Sumpter beast. After finally getting his hands on an intact copy and filling it out, Alhaitham found himself locked inside the office of the Grand Sage. Fruitlessly rattling the door’s handle, Alhaitham belatedly noticed the plaque next to the door proclaimed him as the current Grand Sage.
Alhaitham woke up in cold sweat, remembering with great relief it was just a dream.
During the morning coffee, though, Alhaitham reflected that the dream was reflecting his current anxieties as the Acting Grand Sage. Even more so, the dreams seemed to intensify anytime his working hours threatened to exceed the standard eight hours work day.
It seems his subconscious crystallized the stress and feelings of entrapment as abstract absurd scenarios that nevertheless felt hauntingly real. While on the surface, the dreams seemed to be superfluous in stating the obvious, perhaps it was a naturally inbuilt system that warned him about the deterioration of his mental state.
Indeed, once Alhaitham had begun delegating his work to others and submitted his resignation letter as the Acting Grand Sage, the dreams almost stopped overnight. The warning system has done its job and was deactivated once the threat was gone.
Overall, Alhaitham was not particularly charmed nor revolted by dreams. They were a natural part of the mental landscape. In a stable psyche such as his, dreams were rare and not very exciting.
In fact, there was only one dream that had for some reason stuck with him.
In the dream, Alhaitham wandered the ancient corridors of a temple. It was labyrinthian in size and complexity, of beautiful make and design. Not only were the sharp lines of its decoration aesthetically pleasing, but the pulsing lines of blue on the floor also served an unknown yet fascinating purpose.
Inside the dream, Alhaitham felt no impatience. He was sure that once he had mapped enough of the labyrinth, the mysterious pulses would soon begin making sense and let him in on an important secret.
At some point, Alhaitham wandered into a large room. There was a majestic fountain in the middle and a few benches at the perimeter of the room. Approaching closer, Alhaitham noticed a flower lying on the parapet of the fountain.
It was not a cutting, but a completely intact plant with roots and leaves. The buds of the flower had not opened yet but seemed to be of a purple tint.
The incongruity of this object had piqued Alhaitham’s attention. If he could identify the plan, then it could give him a hint about the geographical location of this place.
But the flower had him stumped, not matching with any floral species that he knew of. Alhaitham chose to sketch the flower to later check it against a herbarium.
In the process of sketching, he noticed something fascinating about its roots.
The roots were a perfect replica of the labyrinth. In a flash of insight, that is free of the burden of proof, he knew by perfect dream logic that this plant was the key to the secret. Even more, he knew that by dissecting its roots he could delve further into the mystery.
Beneath the brown, rugged surface of the roots, flowed golden nectar. Its mystical qualities fascinated Alhaitham unlike anything else.
Alhaitham washed the roots in the clear water and examined them against the light. He even smelled the leaves and the bud of the flower. There was no other way to reach the nectar of knowledge except by cutting into the roots.
Despite the temptation, Alhaitham was not convinced it was the best course of action. He took the plant and went for a walk through the labyrinth.
Who created this labyrinth? What was its purpose? Clearly, the plant could answer all of these questions - but would it be satisfying answers? After all, the plant would die after the dissection and its wisdom would run dry.
The labyrinth had no people in it. It was a place of great knowledge and power, but not a place of life. The only living thing, except for himself, was the flower - and even it was slowly dying.
Eventually, Alhaitham emerged into the large greenhouse. Much like the labyrinth, it was of grand scale and housed towering trees, feeling less like a garden and more like a forest. Strolling through it, he made his decision - although it almost felt like it was gently placed on his brow.
With bare hands, Alhaitham dug out a hole and planted the flower inside it. He then rose, brushing the dirt off his hands. As he looked down at the plant, wondering how he should water it and if it would survive, he saw that his worries were made obsolete by the progression of events.
The plant straightened as if by magic. Its sole bud opened, revealing vibrant purple petals.
Alhaitham sat down in the grass, leaning against the trunk of the giant tree. He saw that the flower fit in perfectly in this place. The bushes were leaning over it like protective brothers, but not robbing it of the light it needed to grow.
A small flower of vibrant color had set its roots. It would grow larger and larger, spawn many siblings, share her wisdom and entwine her roots with the entire forest. Its sweet nectar was lost to Alhaitham, but he felt that he had set things right.
The mystery and the promise of life were preserved, while knowledge was lost.
Alhaitham felt himself dozing off in the peaceful forest. Once he lost himself to sleep in the dream, he snapped awake in the real life.
The imagery of the dream had been so vivid and the recollection of it so clear, that Alhaitham reflected on it for a few minutes, while listening to the morning birds. He could see where the inspiration for each element of his dream had come from, and could even see why his dream had taken this particular shape.
It was not a dream from which knowledge could be gleaned. It was a small pleasant thing, like the sound of bird song, one of life’s casual gifts that you did not seek out but accepted with grace.
Some people attributed to dreams unnecessary profound meaning. Alhaitham was wary to do the same. He chose to see the dream as an illustration of how the right decisions reward you with serenity, how seeing the big picture gives unforeseen benefits and how the pursuit of knowledge for its sake can lead almost anyone astray.
Finally, it made him reflect that so few people understood that mysteries were not punishment for ignorance, but that with more knowledge, grander and grander mysteries revealed themselves to you.
They were not punishment. They were the gift itself.