https://pixabay.com/en/fractal-light-light-fractal-design-2038946/
A Thousand Windows
From the Little Ararat’s peak, Vartan "tiger's eye" observed his hometown, Yerevan. In the ample pocket of his tunic, well sheltered from the harsh wind, his squat fingers played with two graceful jade discs, while his steed, foaming with fatigue, seemed suddenly reinvigorated at the sight of home after months of traveling. If it had not been an animal, it would seem that he was moved. In Vartan's eyes, the only veil was that of travel fatigue.
Armenian merchant of precious stones, merchant son of merchants, he did not care how dangerous the journey was, nor how many moons had rotated above the long caravan: his mind was a precision balance that incessantly weighed and estimated without respite Indian emeralds, Burmese rubies, Pakistani aquamarines. This was Vartan's life since the cradle: he made a profit, and he did it surprisingly well.
A brisk early March night, something unexpected happened to him: he had a dream. Being an unusual experience for him, he awoke to throw in a far corner of the room the brocaded bedspread, upset and wet with sweat despite dawn’s breeze. In his family no one used to dream, there was no space for these frivolities. If he reflected well, maybe a couple of times he had dreamed of carving a gem or making a good deal, but he never came across those surreal dreams like a sand mirage in the ocean. After that episode, dreams began to visit him more and more frequently, as the unstoppable progression of pot-bellied drops in an August downpour. Frankly, it was a very unfortunate situation for Vartan, who was soon forced to invent every kind of wild night escapade to justify the increasingly evident dark circles under his eyes.
Then one day, while he was dreaming, the unthinkable happened: he suddenly perceived that he was in the dream. That first experience of dreamlike lucidity did not last long, nothing but an imperceptible beating of wings of awareness before the rules of the dream came back to swallow him and to dictate the story, relegating him to a mere spectator. Night after night, he began to acknowledge the laws that governed that world and how to bend them to his creative power. Thin and rarefied realms could become dense with colors, shapes, and perfumes. The Escheresque geometries of dancing fractals disobeyed space and time. Gradually, Vartan learned to attribute a new meaning and content to the term comprehension. For every new dream he was immersed in, the breath of those universes and his soul were united in one single essence longer and longer. In those dreams, Vartan traveled in the folds of reality, learned the language of angels and played dodges with them in the heart of perennial storms of unknown planets.
Soon, what was happening in Vartan's soul could not remain hidden to the eyes of the family, his friends, and the entire city of Yerevan.
My finish:
Vartan was deep in the recesses of an unruly world of mind bending sensations. The vast swirls of violet clouds overhead hid a darkening sky that held three moons in juxtaposition with the far away mountaintops. In this dreamworld that he was learning in increments to control, murmurings of the Ancient One were being absorbed by his being and translated into meaning. The words were not oral, they were assimilated directly into his being. He began to understand that this trek through the series of his dreams, flitting through telescoping realities, had a purpose that he was meant to uncover.
Vartan was being guided in this realm to recreate it into a form that his consciousness could understand and interact with. The bare landscape around him embraced him and began to contour itself into a cavern. As he listened and concentrated, the cavern opened itself up showing a pathway leading to a golden door shining with the iridescent colors of an alien rainbow. Vartan picked himself up from the enveloping mantle and glided toward the doorway. He reached the doorway, only to find no way to gain entry. His mind struggled to understand the Ancient One, sensing that there was something he needed. The dancing fractals pulled him in and out his body as the Ancient One continued to ply him with communication. And there in his hand appeared the two jade discs that he had carried with him everywhere in his mortal world. The discs began glowing and Vartan realized that this was an integral part of why he had been chosen and what he was to do next.
Holding a disc in each hand he held them toward the golden portal. The iridescent kaleidoscope became crystal clear and Vartan could see a fist sized ruby red stone shot through with emerald green veins. The stone seemingly hovered in midair and slowly rotated. Vartan could feel the stone calling to him, pulling him forward. Slowly, with reverence, Vartan plucked the stone from its rotation and was immediately inundated with a feeling of absolute joy coupled with immeasurable power. He felt the Ancient One's cerebral approval and the message that he was to take this gift back to his world.
Back in Yerevan, Vartan's inert body was surrounded by concerned family members. He had lain in a coma for this past three days and his family had all but given up hope. Behind his closed eyes and unmoving body Vartan was traveling backward through a thousand windows of dreamscapes, flying through worlds collapsing after him, holding tight to his most precious stone, destined to be the savior of the human race.