mymachinedream
This hit me like a silver thread through my mind. It blew away my cobwebs and brought me back. Brought me back to where i was. I remember this moment and time.
This was the beginning. I went to this place and worked on waking up. I can’t imagine how long it has been between then and now. Or how long i think it is between then and now. I have a hard time with dates and times. Keeping them apart and keeping the moment of today from running into tomorow.
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I’ve decided that i should at least try to move a single thread on this bed. It has to be possible at least in theory. I should be able to have my body pull on the thread. It seems that there must be something wrong with my body. There must be right? Or I would be able to move. At least my fingers? They are there right under the the sheets. I can almost see them. Continue reading
I am piecing together what this world means. I think i am at least. I don’t know how to frame what I have found. Lying here, in this bed. I realized it a little the other day when the room had changed. Now I can’t remember what the change was. Maybe the color of the walls. Maybe the sheet?
I have realized that these things i see in my mind are all united. They seem to come from the same place in my mind. Every dream i have, has a beat to it. A code embedded within it that strums to the same tone. Something unique, like a footprint running along the spine of the dream. The footprints match. I don’t know how i missed this for all of these months, years? Days?
Last night was such a dream. It happened twice now that I have dreamt of trains. I remember the last time it happened the train was in motion. Rolling alongside the freeway i was driving on. The train seemed to be frozen in space, and i was driving so fast. I remember looking over then and seeing the windows lit up from inside. People motionless, and yet keeping pace with me. This dream was a train, but nothing else was the same.
It isn’t something that is coming normally, but I am now thinking that I need to move. I can’t be here much longer without something being strange. I can’t get past the feeling that there is someone or something moving over me. Something that is a feeling of someone looking over your shoulder from across a room. Which is strange, because i can’t remember being in a room. Or other people. I have memories of them all, i know so many things about so many people, but I can’t remember any of them really.
All the same, everything feels like i am being watched all the time. Like someone is seeing every part of my body, and yet, i know i am alone here in this room. There has to be something here where I can find a mirror or look at something other than the ceiling and the walls. I can’t keep my head still can I? Can i even move my head. How can i know so many things, and see so many thoughts without moving at all. Everything seems locked in my head, and I know i have a body, and all things around me seem to log into me and register a impact. At the same time, i know i haven’t moved my head in years. At least it seems so.
This day seems more disjointed than most. I can’t seem to remember my dreams, I can’t seem to remember much of anything useful today. I have so many thoughts of heat and movement. Wind that I remember, and can seem to remember the feeling of my hairs moving in the wind. I can’t understand though why my thoughts are so scattered today. I came to remember smells that I can’t smell any more. I can remember how flowers felt in my fingers and smelled in my nose, and yet, i can’t remember the last flower i saw. And were the flowers real? Were they from a store with added scent to make sure that we knew that they were flowers? Is there a job where someone raises flowers, and can’t smell them any more. There must be millions of workers growing flowers that they will never have in their house. Would you even see the colors after a while. Are they reduced to numbers and tasks. Do you just end up seeing propagation figures that tell them how many cuttings they can grow from each leaf. would we buy flowers if we saw how they were grown, how they were divided and how they were made to be machines of life. Why have we reduced everything to machines. Why are we turning living systems into machines, or is this what we are at this point. Is that something that I am at this point? A machine for remembering flowers, and how they smell and how the wind blows. Maybe that is what I have been reduced to as well. A memory machine, a storage device for things that have already happened and passing those thoughts on to someone who is still moving.
I remember sleeping and fading to the sound of thunder rolling. It sounded like it was in the room with me, hidden beside the bed. Sound slowly moving towards the bed, towards me, then rolling over me and passing along. The sound was both lonely and comforting. I could almost feel the pressure of the sound pushing me down into my bed, keeping me in place. I slept with the sound coming and going, fading and getting louder as the storm moved. I dreamt of the sound, and saw the air move and get deeper and darker.
Could the sound have changed the rhythm of my dream, and the nature of my thoughts? Can sound change our thoughts without us being aware? What if the sound of thunder was what made my mind so calm while my body didn’t move. How did the movement of the pressure waves and the pulse of my body merge into one. All i know is that there is a peace in a storm in the distance. The sound of thunder moving along in the distance, wrapped up in the clouds and hills. It passed so close and seemed to remain all night and never really fade away. It moved and moved and seemed to still live under my bed and by my floor.
Still though it helped my mind freeze into place at night and drift into my body more than it seems like it could at any time before. I still don’t see how I am going to get into a place where I can ever get out of this bed. The sheets must weigh more than my body, and the more i try to move them, the more that I feel like they are not something i can take off alone. Like i am shackled into the bed by cloth. I know that can’t be the way it is though because i can’t feel any links on my arms or legs. I can feel my skin free under the sheets, and feel the hairs on my arms and legs loose and touching the fabric.
Is this the first time i have felt hair on my arms and legs? Did i notice that before, or have i taken for granted that I have hairs. Hairs on my legs down to my feet, and on my arms to my shoulders. Tiny fine hairs on my arms, and heavier ones on my legs. Were the hairs there the whole time, or did they just show up now that i am noticing them. I have to keep my mind on the sound of thunder. On the rolling pressure that comes from the distance and pushes over the bed and passes by. Nothing should distract me from this if i can. I seem to fade in and out and want to drift back into the night and darkness that I was locked in last night. Fade with the muted sound of thunder that rolls over my hills and keeps my mind at peace.
Grey Staircase Up or Down?
So I have to ask myself, if I am pulling away filters from each step as I wake up, what do I start with? What is the first filter you need to move? What would that look like, is it pulling a rod attached to blinds? Pulling a cloth across a window? Is it slipping lens before your eyes and losing the color blue. I always imagine our filters are woven fabric used to filter water. Giant black tendrels weaving in and out of each other. Small enough, and you could live on the threads, and grow your whole life on one section of the filter. Large enough and you are forced into the weave. You push up against the cloth and are pinned as everything flows around you. How many smaller things are flowing around the obstruction in the way, and do they notice anything different in the way they see the world? Do they seem faster than those next to them? Do they rush forward towards something, away from something? Filters are odd things to think about.
So does my day start out with me remembering nothing? Or everything. Am I removing all of the filters I’ve learned how to remove or add to make my life what it seems to be about. Or is the day started like a saved game or started movie, taken off pause or reloaded. I’ve gone off track, as I tend to do. I’m sure I was going somewhere with that thought, but I don’t know exactly where it was going.
One thing that I know that I am in love with is the feeling of stretching out my legs when I wake up. Something about that intense first feeling of everything pulling out. It is like potential, something building. They are often sore, and weary from the day before, but always energized for that first moment. I’ve started the day with so many stretches, they are all blending together. What goes into the thought that remembers that my body needs to move? Is it just basic biology. Is my body just knowing that moving the legs first thing is the best way to keep myself safe? Like baby deer or giraffe that are born and start walking. You know the first thing your day may call for is to run. Or to jump or dance. Or just to lay in peace and happiness and just rest and stretch. What if we are pulling our legs out to pull the vessels in our legs longer so that the negative pressure caused blood to pull faster into the extremities. What if this life was that much of a machine. What if it is all pressure gradients and volumes. What if we are a math problem, what is the equation that we would write out to explain each movement in our day. How would we wrap our mind around the variables? Can we take each moment and wake each portion of our body and mind at such a speed that we can see each letter and number etched out to pull the equation together. Another day is beginning, and I think I could lay here a few more minutes if I need to.