Will I still dream?

When I have no more vision, will I be able to use my memory? Where will my hands, my legs and my head be to guide me? Will I be only future stardust, or will I dance on the fluid ground of a consciousness that will ignore me while accepting me under its wing?

Is there only one sun in all these assumptions?

I may walk, read glosses and gnoses, but there seems to be no certainty except the soil of questions. Our ignorance is an open secret that prevents people from clinging to bigotries or methods.

I may walk, but I’m treading water on the seasons. No matter how much I read, I run out of steam on the silence of the answers. I don’t know if it soothes or anguishes me, if it tires me or hardens me.

I still have the vision, heart, hearing, reasoning, and other senses of a mortal. These are precious treasures that I guard and recombine in my sleep. When I have no more vision, no more sensations, will I continue to dream?