Are Dreams But Not Another World?
For what we dream, emulates what we forge within.
Are our dreams not the crossing over to another world?
Where all answers are found but skewed in the comprehension of the living. For many of our dreams doddle on the unanswerable, but draw us to believe there must be meaning.
Meaning, we may choose to ignore with the rashest thoughts. Or bore our dreams with denial to our own well being. Looking at them as if a mere jumble of pictures from what the day had brought to us. But like the gut, the intuition, we know there is something more to us. More than the beating of our hearts or the ticking of our minds.
Have we not all consumed the feeling of our gut in the decisions of life?
Have we not all ignored this feeling of knots that taut our stomach like string, but fail to untie it, to follow it?
Leading us to disappointment and regret. Fondling what could have been, if only our ignorant minds had not crossed our gut.
We dream with intent, the intent to bring us answers. To warn us of ourselves, be it the subconscious or the ego that trails beside it. There is more to the blurry faces that whisper to us in our sleep and the horrors that split our incandescent thoughts. Our dreams are but another world of us, of life.
If this you do not believe, please see the outcomes of a friend to Carl Jung. A friend whom asked Jung to bring meaning to a dream. And with the analysis of the dream, Jung warned his friend of great trouble. A trouble that could be blended with the ecstasy of death.
But the living mind of his friend would not allow for such a dream, or any dream of that matter to have any potency of rational or irrational belief. For he believed dreams with meaning to be foolish.
To bring about an answer to life, from dreams to this man. Was an unwilling hand. He thought dreams were of nothing but meaningless attempts of the mind to unwind. And in his inability to speak with the intuition of the gut, or of his dreams. Even with the heeding of Jung, Jung's friend fell to his death. And I mean not that in any metaphor, he truly fell to his death.
Just as the expected feeling he had upon his dream, ecstasy. And death be the only true ecstasy. For it separates the body from the soul and cannot be reversed.
Our dreams, whether subconscious or not, bleed us into another world. Into the true and visible of how we perceive our would. Or our dreams can be the the teachings of an answer to solve our strenuous troubles. But one must believe their dreams to be more than the simplistic outcomes of exhaustion.
Dreams hold something, something the living cannot perceive without much understanding of self. But strangely, one can find answers of self within the matters of ones dreams.
Thank you for reading, did you like what you read?
Then grab a copy of A Man's Traveled Heart
Popular posts from this blog
I have been writting poetry on medium, does anyone still wish me to write short stories on here?
A Summer Bird's Winter Perch I watch this lonely bird chirp upon a slopping branch. Its feet wrapped firmly around the thin finger of bark. As I watch, I commiserate its position. Sitting there, alone, singing with no others to listen. Speaking I assume, to itself. Maybe contemplating its unfortunate circumstance. For the rest had already left for the winter. If I am not mistaken it was only a few days ago that I watched a flurry of birds dart by. Their wings flapping against the brisk wind collectively. Not a single one appeared worried of their journey. Their shadows crawled quickly across the empty streets during a fall evening. I watched them pass by like a feather floating down stream. I couldn't help but wonder, how long must they fly? What winds must they fight, what elements must they battle against? All must be against them as is every moment in time is against us all? Yet they fly forth to the heat of earth. Dependent upon their survival but, what
Step Out! Out, Out from the gloom, The obscure breath of doubt Take stone, break thy yoke, Let trouble fall, let shoulders be lifted, Flow, to the heavens Be but strain no more, Open wide, thy mouth, Let prayer fill thy tongue Be parched no more. Stillness in heart Though seas roar like lions, And beast snarl among mist, Step, Out! To mercy of life, Ease, be reborn. Let no shackle of past Be meaning for tear Take hammer, Fracture the cumbersome Be feet of swift Fill your days with strides, Though dunes widen And heat scorches thy soles. Out, Step out from thy fear, There is another to call To breach, To reach your heart Though thee be of man, Let not thy eyes of flesh Be the dealings of truth, Wander, In aspect to be whole Be not the coward hidden in cave, A creature curled Like frightened doe, For he walks beside thee, Like king among his men, A sword of greatness Sways from his belt, Ready, To swing against thy enemies, A presence more bold Than all the stars of a pitch sky.