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 Clawing with Teeth

These dreams are dark.  I don’t know why when everything in the day seems so light.  This dream was of moles and animals digging huge tunnels and complexes beneath the ground.  It was a funny dream because i felt so safe under the ground, and I could see.  It was like bioluminescence and everything just seemed to ‘be’ it wasn’t that anything was lit up, but more like everything just was a source of light.

I found the entrance right here under my bed.  They must have been digging for years.  Holes and tunnels and groundwork pulled away.  The ground was solid, but loose, and full of dripping water.  I could hear the sounds of things moving far off into the distance, and the caverns were huge.  I am not sure if they were just expanding natural structures, and my room had these caverns beneath them.  It seems to me that they were all dug by mouth and hand.  The earth scooped aside.  The tunnels following some pattern that I don’t understand.  I know that there is a rhythm to the the spaces that have been dug out, and there must be an order and pace to where they dug and when.

There is water too, more than i would have thought was possible.  Running in streams everywhere and pooling into large ponds and small lakes.  There doesn’t seem to be much pattern here either.  Is this what they did with all the dirt they dug off the walls and floors?  Did they just let the water carry it away, and where did the water go?  Where was it coming from in the first place.  I can’t tell if this is rain water or from somewhere deep underground.  The smell of the water in the air mixed with the smell of damp earth is beyond description.  I know i have smelled this before, but never like this.  The water smells ancient and cold.  Like flat minerals and stillness.  I can’t describe it, but it makes me feel thirsty.  At the same time though I don’t need to drink.

Why do my dreams seem to pull me to earth and water.  They are tied together, and the minerals of one soak into the medium of the next.  They bring everything together it seems, and they show up so often in my mind.  This is the first time i have sunk into the floor in my sleep.  Is this place really here when i am awake? Do these creatures exist in the world around me, gnawing places in the earth. Am i supposed to explore below myself, into the ground and dig below where i am.  Or is that substructure already there?  Is there a basement below me that I haven’t seen yet, some hidden place where everything is illuminated but not seen.  What are the creatures that dug this out.  I didn’t see them in the dream.  I seem to be dreaming more and more.  I need to figure out some way to break the dream and wake up.

by ·Comments Off on A thin film

There was a thin black film spreading over everything today.  It started at my hands, and I couldn’t seem to stop it.  It was so dark, and smelled like almonds.  I can’t remember eating almonds, but I must have if i remember the smell when it is all over me.  At first I wasn’t worried, I had come here intentionally to spread this epoxy into a film.  I am trying to hold back so much and hold in so much.

It got onto my fingers and then spread up my arms. I backed up and it got on my back.  It fell down my leg. It was everywhere and spreading.  It was cool and smooth and spreading over my skin.  Cutting off the air, holding down the skin and filling my nose with fields of almonds.  I can’t get away from the smell and the hole i am in.  I can’t get the plastic from my skin and don’t know if i want to.  It can’t be something to get off.  Drips of it on my fingers keep me from rubbing the liquid off my arms.  I need out of here now that the work is done.  I can’t remember why i was sealing this hole, or how i was going to use it when i was done.

Then everything is back to here, and I remember I am not awake yet.  I can’t be filling anything and epoxy doesn’t make any sense.  How would i mix it, where would i get it.  Why am I here in this ground and who made the ground the way it is. The epoxy isn’t real and the ground isn’t real.  This is a dream and something folding into my mind.  Was this the feeling of the sheets around me?  Did something put down weights onto me.  Why are all the thoughts of anything outside this room so vivid and so disconnected.  Why does everything seem so real and so unconnected to a past or future.  I see these things like dreams or a movie i was in.  I know so much about it, but also I can’t remember when it happened.  I can’t remember what i was doing before each event, or my plans after they are done.

I seem to be a dream.  I must be a dream.  If i am not a dream, am i some fragment of an idea someone is having, am I some sort of memory someone is putting into place.  Plugging into me these small pieces of a real life, holding small fragments of life and feelings, and then disconnecting me from them.  I know this means something, but that seems to be part of what is missing.  I can’t seem to connect the what to the why.  I know that there must be some reason that more and more I seem like i am more awake and present in each of these memories, or dreams, and yet i can’t seem to get anything to fall into place.  They seem random and disconnected, but they mean something to someone.

by ·Comments Off on Water on walls

All night dreams about water falling over rocks.  Fast washing of water of the tops of rocks, everything falling to a lower state of energy.  Each fall coming after the next, and each slowing the fall of water till it rests in stillness on the river below.  It can’t be falling and falling and the moss absorbs the energy.  The moss on the rocks is part of the gravity well of the water.  Slowly the water gives it’s movement and energy to the rock and moss.  The moss grows strong from the weight and pressure, while the rock is ground down.  Generations of moss come and go, flourish and die and are reborn from single spores carried in the wind.  The movement of the water is all stored and passed beyond itself.  The water carries the movement, and the movement carries the power.

Then the water fell from the rocks to the pond and everything stopped.  The world stopped and the water stopped and the dream seemed to stop.  It wasn’t over though with the water, it wasn’t done when the movement froze.  Everything kept going in the dream.  It spooled out like someone forgot to shut a camera down after a scene had ended.  The characters had left, and the motion had stopped, but the film kept recording everything that happened.  I watched and watched the water for hours.  Waiting to see something happen, anything to move again and nothing changed.  Was I the water, was the movement me, was I paused now?  That is the funny things about water, and about dreams I guess.  They seem still, but are always moving.  Even when the current seems stopped, the water is moving.  The changes in flow might be small, but something is always happening.  Water isn’t the resting state.  The water slowly is pulled into the air, tiny bits falling up into the sky.  And the ground pulls it away too.  The water is always moving somewhere.

That is what I dreamed, and where my memories were stored, locked into a waterfall i heard all night.  Maybe the dream is something from when i was not in this bed, not frozen in place.  Maybe it was some sound coming through the walls from somewhere else.  Maybe a noise or a remembered dream.  Did someone come in while i was sleeping, while my mind was on other things.  Could someone have been in the room, and made a noise like water?  Did someone wash into the room and leave, or was i alone all night?  I should be able to remember, but my thoughts at night seem to be still and silent.  I remember being awake, and I remember my dreams, but I can’t remember anything between the two.  There are these holes that open up and nothing is there when i try to think of them.  Blank spaces of midnight and silence.  Nothing moving or changing, and then i go from that to a dream of water and sound.  Then back to this bed and the place i am now.

by ·Comments Off on In a dark walk

It can’t be more than a moment since my eyes closed.  I was trying to move my feet. A sound like a drip of water in a pond sounded and I was gone.  I woke up after another long dream.  A dream of long dark hallways.  There were doors on each side.  Dark wood doors.  The light was grey and blue, everything was illuminated, but there was no light.  I don’t know how to explain the shade of the light, it was the color of moonlight in the mountain, but with the white color removed and the blues left in place.  I remember the carpet on the floor, and not having shoes on. I could feel the fabric against my feet, and the feeling of the stiff cheap fibers.  How can i remember that feeling if i can’t remember what the place was.

It reminded me of a hallway of a friends house when i was younger. It was the longest hallway i had ever seen, and i remembered thinking that the house on the outside didn’t seem long enough to have that much room inside.  The rooms and house were always dark.  The blinds always closed.  Maybe i was back there in my dreams, remembering houses from my childhood.  What if all of this remembering is me just thinking back.  Why do these dreams keep coming, why don’t I ever seem to be all the way awake?  I can’t be only dreaming of things and remembering things.  It seems like i am stuttering awake over days and weeks and months.  I seem like a series of random events.  Like someone took a bucket of pictures or slides.  Why do i remember slides.  Slide shows, pictures of other peoples trips.  I remember a barrel that someone had filled with old slides.  Dead peoples memories, old photos of weddings and vacations.  I looked through them for hours.  Pulling up handfuls of someones most important moments.  I remember that they were selling them by the pound.  I stood for hours looking at slide after slide, and trying to piece together what they meant for the person who took them.  Remember that this was once someones life.

What if this place is where I will be forever.  Locked in place in this bed.  Dreaming every night of things that have happened.  What if this is the place where everything happens.  I know i will wake up at some point, and jump out of bed.  Jump into the day like i have so many times.  But for now I just know that I am stuck walking down this dark hallway.  So many doors to open, and so many that are already stuck closed.  I know that this door and hallway dream is a clumsy way for my thoughts to resolve, and to know what I have passed by and already seen.  My mind doesn’t care though, and doesn’t stop the dreams from coming.  I can’t think that this is my world, and this bed and these dreams are the place where I live.  I will wake up.  I will find the things that bind me in place, and find a way past them.

by ·Comments Off on Would this move my foot

I wonder what is happening with my feet.  I know i am having the worst time moving them.  I had dreams of them gliding and floating over the ground as i run faster and faster.  I dreamed of walking through halls and rooms filled with wonders.  Now that I am awake, or waking up and seeing that I have still been here for so long, why can’t i seem to move them.  It is like the connection is broken between my mind and the feet that is stopping me from leaving.  Am i trapped here?  Is this bed, and these sheets and these feelings the extent of my world now.  I don’t know but I can feel my skin and my body.  My toes are the oddest things lately.  They are cold all of the time.  They tingle and feel strange and I don’t know why that is.  The tips feel like they aren’t finished yet, and the image of what they are isn’t fully formed.  I wish i had a way to see what they look like and what is causing the feeling of incomplete skin.

Everything about the space of my body is so intriguing right now.  I know the shape and form of my body, the lines and edges that make the boundary state between me and the world around me.  I know where my edge is, and where the cloth around me is close but not touching my body.  I find it odd that in this whole world, i haven’t touched anything.  I have come close to touching things, but not actually making contact.  There is an atomic distance between where the end of my body is, and the next thing in space i would touch.  Everything that seems so real, and so solid, is not something that I have ever really touched.  Nothing has actually been on my body.  Does that mean that right now I am levitating the sheets above me?  Does it mean that i am capable of lifting solid objects with nothing but my physical presence?  Is this magic?  Does something like that make me a force of creation, or something beyond the normal.

So many things just don’t make much sense to me.  I feel programmed sometimes.  Like someone is making me a real thing by believing in me and feeling I must be real.  But If i am real, why isn’t there anyone here right now.  Why hasn’t anyone come to see why i haven’t gotten out of this bed.  Where is the thunder coming from, where are the sheets made.  How did the room get painted, and where is the room exactly that I am stuck in.  I can’t imagine no one is here, and I can’t imagine that I am alone.  So, there must be someone outside of this place that I can meet.  But i can’t seem to see much beyond where I am.  I am just floating here. Everything seems both to be moving so fast I can’t follow it, and so slowly I have days and weeks between moments of time.  Why are there times when I don’t seem to be here, and where do i go when i am not here?  Why can’t i move my body under these sheets.

by ·Comments Off on There has been a missing space

I am not sure what has happened to me.  I was just here one minute and the next I am still here, but different.  I know something has changed, some time frame has shifted.  Like a large space of time has gone by, and nothing happened while i wasn’t there.  Was i awake?  Was I asleep this whole time.  It seems that so much has happened, but I am still in the same spot that i was in a moment ago.  How can I still be here, but not still in the same time.  I am so disorganized and tired still.  Still fighting with my own mind to try to find out where and when i am.  I can’t imagine that no time has passed, but It can’t be as large of a moment as it seems.

The first thing i noticed that made me think that something had happened was when i closed my eyes the walls around me in this room were white.  The bedspread over me was tan.  I opened them and the walls seem tan and the bedspread is grey.  It can’t be that they changed, or did i just remember the colors wrong.  Maybe they were backwards the whole time.  I know i have never been any good at remembering colors.  I am pretty sure I can only see in primary colors, and there isn’t anything but red, green, blue.  That doesn’t seem right though.  There are more colors than that.  I remember once while travelling seeing a tv commercial for testing for color blindness in kids.  The people on the screen were holding up cards to show you the tests they use and talking about numbers i couldn’t see.  Was the tv screen not showing the numbers?  Was I not able to see them there because I was color blind?  Was i really travelling?

I am having trouble telling the real world from what I have dreamt.  I know that I have vivid dreams that seem so real and so close to my waking mind.  But sometimes it seems like they bleed over into the real world, and I wonder if the things I saw happened.  Is there some chance that I am here, and then gone?  How can I be here in this bed, laying here trying to sort my thoughts, and also in those dreams not knowing which is real.  If i dream i am digging up dirt, and wake up with dirt under my nails.  Did I bring that with me?  Did i go to sleep with dirt under my nails last night?  I can’t seem to really remember last night.  I just seem to remember this morning.

The funny thing is that I can lay here and feel things moving.  I can feel my skin moving against the sheets, I can feel my air through my throat.  My hair rubbing against the pillow.  But at the same time, i feel like I can’t move at all.  Like I can’t move beyond the slight motion that is happening all the time.  I know I can move my legs, I have done it so many times.  But I can’t seem to find the energy to move them now.

by ·Comments Off on Pulling Together

Eventually I will have to get out of this bed.  I’ll have to get moving and face whatever happens when I put down my feet.  I am not sure that I’m ready to get up yet, and sometimes I don’t think I can move my legs even if I wanted to.  What if I can’t move today?  Sometimes in my dreams I try to run, and my legs won’t move forward.  I remember what it feels like to run, and what the motion should feel like.  I know i’m asleep, and know I need to move faster, but I can’t make my legs move.  It feels like i’m shuffling, and not able to lift my feet.  Slowly moving forward.  At the best moments of my dreams, I embrace that I can’t lift my feet off the ground, and start to glide.  I wonder if I am lucid dreaming in these dreams?  If I am, what is the difference between when I am stuck not running, and gliding along.  Sometimes, when I am gliding, my strides get longer and longer.  It’s like I’m hovering over the ground as I run.  I wonder to myself in these dreams why everyone else isn’t pointing and calling out.  I’m hovering, not quite flying and holding myself over the ground.  It feels amazing, and in my waking day I wish I could run that way.  To throw myself foot over foot, and drift across the ground.  But those days I can’t move my legs, where I’m stuck in the mud, latched to the ground.  Maybe this is a form of waking up as well, awake in the dream like in life.  What if I wake up in the dream when I can glide across the ground.  What if my stuck feet are the same as the feeling of not waking up in the morning and feeling trapped in bed.  One more minute, one more hour, one more stretch and I might get away from this.  Maybe in this day, I’m spending too much time waking up, and not enough time being awake.  Maybe this is the most awake I’ve ever been and I’m finally getting ready to glide away from here.  Could everyone else be gliding right now, and I feel slow and stuck in the mud?  What if I’m already gliding and I just can’t tell.  What if I’ve been asleep in this bed and waiting to wake up for all this time.  Everything will continue to move without me being out there, and I don’t want to miss anything.  How am I going to pull myself awake from these dreams, when the dreams are so real they seem better than what I’m waking up to.  If your dreams are better than your waking life, then you are probably doing something wrong, or you are not living in a dream yet.  Outside my window a cloth is stuck in a branch and is slowly getting blown back and forth in the wind.  Time to move that cloth and bring it inside.

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.