ODA - I
ODA - I Oda woke up from his long slumber. Or, did he? Was he merely dreaming that he had woken up? Or, at least, that he was waking up? Oda had slept through all his life, all the long, five decades that he had existed biologically. Part of the sleep was, of course, actual sleep. Part of the sleep was, of course, the zombified living that we all do: lost in ‘the dreary desert sand of dead habit’. Part of the sleep was also, of course, the sum of those rare moments when he was fully awake, fully aware, fully living. But perhaps, that sum, Oda felt today, was so miniscule, the moments of awareness so rare as to merely constitute a dream: a vivid, a realistic, a colourful dream. But a dream, nevertheless. And today, he had decided to make that dream, a reality: he had decided to remain awake, aware for the remaining moments of his life. He told himself that he must now be mindful always. If he could, even during his biological sleep. Would Oda keep his word that he had give...