by ·Comments Off on Sending everything somewhere

 I had another dream. I’m locked in bed in this room and in my mind still. I guess because I am having trouble telling where I am anymore.  My messages are getting garbled.  Like an old TV signal passing through trees and wind.  Something blocking the clarity of my mind and my dreams. Although my dream made me wonder if this is really a bed i am in. It seems like one in my mind. I can’t imagine it would be anything but a dream and a real bed.  I had a dream where I was talking to two people who were interviewing me to find out what was happening to me.  I don’t remember every part of the dream, or everything that they said.  That is what was also so strange about that dream.  I don’t normally forget the parts of a dream, or forget moments that I am seeing when i am asleep.  Only when I am awake do things seem to fall apart and get lost in the flow of moments.

Continue reading

by ·Comments Off on Shadowed Echo – Waking Up

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.

WAKING UP

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.

Continue reading

by ·Comments Off on A second face

Something new happened. I have to remember it. I don’t know how to even classify this in the oddities that seem to happen so frequently. And I want to talk about the annoying hum in the wires behind my head. I know it isn’t a large thing to want to change, but if i could find some way to shut that off, my mind would unclench. That can wait though. I think someone was watching me in my dream last night.

Continue reading

by ·Comments Off on Beam of light

I remember cardboard boxes today. This must be the most boring and basic memory I have ever had. Especially lately. I thought I was finding a way somewhere forward from here, but now all that is in my mind is boxes. Cardboard boxes. The kind you ship packages in, the ones that pile up to the door while you are out. Waste of the day, and broken down without a second thought. I am remembering the way the light would shine into and through the corners of a folded up box. The area where the edges fold together at the bottom of the box.

Continue reading

by ·Comments Off on Carried in a sack, the Buddha walked

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?

Continue reading

by ·Comments Off on Clover and again so many bees

I woke up in the same bed.  The same bed in the same room.  The same room in this light that never changes.  The same light on my sheets covering my body.  My body that I can’t move, and all of this over and over again.

Continue reading

by ·1 Comment

This morning i woke up and remembered dreams of pilings.  Dreams of thick dark wood soaked in creosote and oil.  Whole tree trunks, just sunk into the water.  Green water streaming around the pilings and sunlight flashing through the water.  I saw so much in the water that day.  In my eyes i was above the water looking down, and In the water looking up.  From above i saw the shafts of light flowing through the water, i could see the edges of the light and the  ripples in the water.  It almost seemed like you could cut a section of water directly.  Even though it seemed so clear where the water cut into the light, the edges got darker the farther away i looked, and I could almost make out shapes in the distance.  The water moved and flowed and was alive at the same time.

From below I saw so much more.  The thing that stood out to me the most was that I could see the swimming shapes in the water.  I saw shadows of fish floating and washing through the edges of the light.  Smaller shapes of dust glowing as it drifted into and out of the beams.  I remember being mystified about how the shapes seemed to loom so large and so small at the same time.  How they almost seemed to grow as they approached.  The distance seemed to almost be as fluid as the fish themselves.  I couldn’t tell how large or small they were, but i was there with them and they were around me on all sides.  I felt both a sense of fear, and a sense of deep peace.  I knew that nothing there would approach me, or hurt me.  I also knew that I wasn’t anywhere that I was born into, that I was a visitor in this world.  Somewhere that the space of time never wanted me to go.

I remember the most vivid image that still stays with me.  The water was dark, but still visible.  The light was dim, but even on all sides.  In the shape that i could see, dark fins and shapes like tear drops and glass, with tight fins on the top and bottom, and tails behind.  They looked like curved glass and vases.  But alive and moving.  I remember 4 shapes in front of me, moving with the water, but at the same time static.  They were working in the three dimensions of the water, and floating stationary where i could see them.  I felt a sense of peace wash over me.  I can see them now when i close my eyes.  And the same sense of peace and stillness fills my mind.  I see and feel warmth.

All things in this dreams seem so familiar.  I know i have stood here, looking down into the water and seeing these shapes.  I can’t imagine that I have made these thoughts up.  But no matter how vivid my memories are and how deep i dream, how far i go into the thoughts i have I am still hear.  I know that I haven’t moved an inch.  How long have I been here?  How many dreams have I had, how many have i forgotten to stay and remember.  I will dream more and find my way to move.

 

by ·Comments Off on Archive and response

I have archived all my memories.  That must be it.  The time i have spent in this room must be an interrupted restoration of some type of installation of my dreams.  Like I was mid rewrite and something woke me up.  Now i am coming into and out of these dreams.  They are so peaceful and soothing, i dream of water and soil.  Nothing but calm and cool air.  I know this is a good sign that whatever I am recovering is a good thing, but it seems like the memories may not come back until I can carry the dreams into my waking life and move forward.

I am awake now, and i know that this is real.  I can see the ceiling above me.  I can remember painting the ceilings and walls, even though i can’t remember what holding a paint brush feels like.  Did i use a paint brush?  Did i use a roller.  I don’t think that matters, but at the same time I can’t help but wonder if the details are actually all that do matter.  I feel like i am making a record or a recording of all the things that happened.  I know this isn’t right, but it is the closest i feel to what this feels like.

The other thing that seems more and more odd is the vividness of the dreams, and the clarity of what i remember.  It is like someone zoomed into the moment and focused so clearly there is a blinding quality to what i am seeing.  Like if my eyes could focus farther I could see the individual molecules of matter in the scene.  I remember staring at water reflecting on a brown river.  Even though the water was brown, the water seemed clear and fresh.  I stared at the reflection for so long it seemed like my eyes would go blind from the light.  I stood there and stared.

How can i remember standing if i can’t remember what it feels like to be anywhere than this bed.  If i am here, and also i was there, where am i really?  I know this seems odd, but it is one of the only things in my mind.  Am I here now in this bed, staring at this ceiling, or am I standing by the river, or am I anywhere else.

It can’t be both can it?  Can i be the sum of all those parts.  It seems like maybe this isn’t all that there is, and I need to find a way to live in both places.  Was i reflecting on this bed when i was at the waters edge?  What did i stop when i was interrupted, and what memory was i in the middle of when my dreams were stopped.  I know that can’t be good for anyone trapped in that moment.  Are they stuck, repeating over and over in time.  What would that look like.  I don’t know if that means that they are waiting in that moment for everything to start back up while they stutter back and forth in that final moment before my memory stopped.

Cords that bind and tie[AMAZONPRODUCTS asin=”B00VH84L5E”]

by ·Comments Off on Moving Aside

Staircase

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.

by ·1 Comment

I’ve noticed that every morning I seem to be waking up with new pieces. I notice new things. So many thoughts that up until now I must have turned a blind eye to. Was i noticing them at all? Were they there in any form, or was I seeing them and looking through them. That is a bad path to start your brain off with first thing in the morning. If I never noticed or thought about something before that moment, was it always there and I just never noticed it? I am sure that must be the case. However, that means that we have perceptive filters on our awareness. Only when we start removing those filters to we start noticing new things. But, there must be a mechanism for doing this, for removing these filters.

Filters seem like the right word for them as well. We use filters for only one thing, to block out one thing from going to another location. We filter out light with cloth or solids, stop the waves of light from passing through, or being altered in some way to dim them. What would the anti-filter for a light wave be? If we assume that the light is already being filtered. Would it be moving beyond our atmosphere? The vacuum of space though has a large volume of molecules blocking some amount of the light. What would happen if those were pushed to one side or another in the same way blinds are parted in my bedroom when i wake up?

What would someone see looking through that vacancy? What would raw unfiltered sunlight look like? But in the same way the more interesting idea is that of ideas themselves. What is the filter we have in place of a new idea. When you are a child and first think of a novel idea, one you have never been exposed to, what was the filter in that idea’s way? The filter exists in some form since the idea you thought of has already been thought of before. (Most likely) But you have never thought of the idea before this very moment, so what was in it’s way. Since I’ve already thought about it before you, it existed, but not for you. You found the idea, and realized it existed, but the idea itself existed before now. So is the source of idea’s the person who tells you the idea? In that case, to find new ideas, we have to go to the people who are telling things to us that no one has ever said. Those people are the ones with ideas. Maybe they are right, maybe they are wrong, but they are new. New to you and new to other people as well. Removing a filter (right or wrong) is still a filter moved out of the way. It still brings us closer to the raw sunlight.