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Re: Visions and Dreams
Posted: Wed Jun 20, 2018 8:12 pm
However, I would phrase a bit differently this "humility that allows him to realize that nothing is important", rather saying that everything is equally important, and there is no moment that is not totally sacred. These two are just the sides of the same coin, same realization, in my opinion. The Void and the Perfection are both equally present at every moment, not cancelling out but holding up each other.
These were pretty much my thoughts when I was thinking if I should post the quote. For a while I hesitated, but then I decided that people would get it right. Yours was a great clarification, though!
Re: Visions and Dreams
Posted: Mon Jun 25, 2018 4:12 pm
I had a memorable dream today, while sleeping after a nightshift.
I was living in big country that was like a mix between Africa and South America. The mood was like in a 19th Century colony. For a long time there had been a war. Some kind of Islamic fanatics had been attacking black aborginals, and us Europeans were there to defend them. But in reality, the Aborginals had become a pariah class. Now, I was known as a man of peace, always against the war and vocal about the rights of the aborginals But somehow I knew I had enjoyed a luxury of being detached from lot of the hard realities most people had to deal with. I hadn't seen a battle, and I had no real contact with the Aborginals.
This changed, when the militants reached the edge of our camp. We were living in a camp at the beach, and the enemy was shooting us from the forest that was at the Western edge, opposite to the Eastern ocean shore. I had a rifle, and I had to take cover in sort of wooden terrace that was built so close to the ocean that the waves reached inside. The enemy bullets came close, and I was worried that they would paralyze my left side. I fired some shots back, and soon the enemy retreated. But I was very upset that I had participated in the shootings.
When I got back to camp, the Europians were furious with the Aborginals. I went to the camps water source (there was a hazy vision-like corner in our camp that was like corner of a class room that had a sink and a tap and a partial wall with bathroom tiles and a paper towl holder), and I saw that the Aborginal children had put two thin silver spears sticking in the sand, blocking the way to the water source. These thin spears were about my height, and they were mostly smoooth and polished, but with some engraved ornamental segments. In the middle of the spikes were depicted indivdual European heads, severed and impailed. I got very mad at the children, and I shouted that these heads look exactly like two young men who had just died in battle defending them, so how can I defend the rights of the Aborginals if they stage these kinds of provocations. Then I tore the spikes off the sand and tossed them away.
The children were horrified, but this was not because of what I said, for I realized they spoke French and couldn't understand me. They were shocked that I had commited a sacrilige by removing the spikes. They went to fetch the adults, and suddenly I understood I had misinterpreted the spikes. They were no more a provocation than some of our macabre crucifixes. They were the symbols of their God. I remembered I had read about that God, and just went the adults came (it seemed they were about to lynch me), I remembred the God's name and I spoke it aloud: "Chongo".
Suddenly all the Aborginals stopped. Then the children got excited and started to tell me about Chongo in French. I understood (from one little girl) that "Chongo is in the grass, Chongo is in the sky, Chongo is everywhere". I was ashamed of my actions, and I was apologizing to the God, the children and the adults.
Then one of the fathers of the children who spoke my language said, that he would take me to the priest of Chongo who had initiated himself. When I met the priest, I apoligized to him, too. And I told I had for a long time been interested in their religion, having read many books about it. So the priest decided to perform for me a traditional divination. He had a metallic devise that looked like an ornamented clothesline, made of tarnished metal. It was about a size of a large microwave oven. It had metallic stringlike structures on top, with spoon like attachments that held a little over twenty mini-coconuts (litlle smaller tha golf balls). At the bottom there was a an open rectangular place for burning embers. The sides of the fire place were heavily ornamented, but I only remeber that among the ornaments were engravings of the soles of feet. (There are similar engravings used in some of the silver christening spoon that I've seen).
The heat from the embers below made sixteen coconuts fall down, and these sixteen made up the signs for the divination.Tha man who brought me interpreted to me what the priest said: One of the coconuts that wasn't part of the sixteen, corresponded to the Tarot card "The Sun". The overall table seemed to indicate that bussiness would be good and that I was a man who appreciates good bussiness above all. I said I hoped I wasn't a man for whom bussiness came first. Then the priest smiled, and showed a vision in the middle of the ember's smoke. There was a stack of books, and on the back of one I could read the word "Esotericism" (yellow on red). Then he told that one coconut, called "Humphrey Bogart", meant that I was worried that I would be paralyzed on the right side. This got me thinking about the shooting incident that happened earlier....
And I woke up. The dream was more reslistic than most of my dreams, and of late, I have seldom recalled my dreams this vividly.
Re: Visions and Dreams
Posted: Fri Jun 29, 2018 9:03 am
I make a habit of writing down my dreams as often as possible. Sometimes there is a real gem. My dreams convince me there are many parallel existences apart from this world. Most nights I experience typical dream environments with unusual guests, angels or demons. Here is one that was uncharacteristically vivid and of which I myself strangely was not a part of.
Old biblical times. A group of five or so men stand in a field. A guy is complaining. He wants his old family land back so that he can be buried there. He works for some guy who is evil. The evil man used to be in charge but is now the second in command. The boss says "OK you can have it back so that you can be buried there when you die." The guy is still upset, it isn't soon enough. He is complaining that it wont happen. Maybe he doesn't trust them. A large Indian monster that resembles Lurch from the Adams Family turns as a fifth man speaks up to intervene. He is an old man dressed in black wearing a turban. He says "I've been working for you guys forever and this land is something that is just..." The Lurch monster man punches or even grabs at the mans face. The moment his fist makes contact, the guys face caves in. A ray of light shines down on the two standing frozen in the moment. We all look upward as if the mans soul is floating toward the source of the light. His body falls.The burial land issue seems to be resolved somehow. A song begins to play " Is this the Satan's arm?" "Is it a woman or a man?" "Is this the Satan's arm?" "Oh is this the promise land?" A man with a very pale white face, dark circles around his eyes, a bright red derby hat and red sport coat holding an umbrella steps toward us, seemingly out of a painting! And look, at the painting, it's of a Satan's arm! The plaque below it says so!
This dream was in what seemed like hell or similar. The song was vivid, it had acoustic guitar accompaniment and an almost country western sound. All the colors were so vivid and I felt disturbed in some inexplicable way upon waking.
Re: Visions and Dreams
Posted: Mon Feb 11, 2019 1:47 pm
A few nights ago, I had a dream that condensed, at waking, into two english-language words: ”gender ocean”. This stuck with me because I usually find almost nothing clearly meaningful in my dreams. Even rarer is that my subconscious expresses itself in actual articulated language (other than pre-existing texts, like song lyrics); some of my most intriguing dreams have been about reading poetry that is almost there, almost articulate. I’m sure that remembering even a single sentence from such a dream would fill me with pain and wonder.
Anyway, these last few days I’ve been pondering my newfound concept and half-consciously searching my surroundings for images that resonate with it. It seems that in the dream-world the words allude to, flesh is water, cool, clear and yet so deep that the bottom can’t be seen. Diving into it is, on the one hand, abandoning the brain — or immaterial soul — as the sole seat of consciousness; dissolving manhood as a restrictive gender identity on the other. This identity, with all of its joyless and tiring ramifications, is revealed as merely ice on the surface, or maybe something light and inconsequential enough to float, while the deep below opens into huge silent cathedrals.
As an example of something ”outer” continuing the dream even further than my initial interpretation could, the expression ”sea bed” caught my ear yesterday in a Florence & the Machine song, and seemed suddenly like another two-word poem, another piece of the puzzle. There’s something wonderful, in general, about using the word ”bed” as a synonym for ”basis”, ”ground” (which is not possible in my mother tongue). The dark ground of spirit is that upon which one sleeps and has sex. But who is it that does these things on the sea bed, specifically?
I would once like to hear Ophelia’s last words as an earnest bidding of good night, with no heartbreak and self-destructiveness behind them. I would like all these drowned women, my dear mermaid sisters, to have quick bright voices and laughter again.