In the twilight yawn of heaven's black rose two tall trees of sombre peeking green, their tops a round as if drawn in mathematical precision. And as I gazed at them for a blessed moment, the kind that could be any length at all in the twinkle of eternity, I saw the eyes of an owl, great and wise. Before I could breathe another, before my brain was capable of any other notion, I was behind those green owl eyes in the sky looking down upon the black-cradled ground. For these were the eyes that watched all the galaxies in the dominion of love, the ones that belong to our guardian, our God. And to them I was a speck, safe and happy, so at home there in the sky, there in a place that touches our reality and yet belongs to another.
From the beauty of the dreamscape, in the place between the thoughts and the movies of the nighttime, came striding an elephant with butterfly ears. Each ear was as a great wing in pinks and baby blue, shimmering, and moving in the way butterfly wings do. When the great elephant had passed, there came a snake into view whom morphed into an eel, then grew fins down the length of its body and soon became a fish. And so the dream spoke of victory, of beauty always remembered and how the selfish snake self became beautiful too.
In the dream I am standing in a puddle, I am normal. Yet my reflection in the puddle, in the world of the upside-down, is a zombie. It is as if all this while I have been trying to achieve this very thing, to separate the good parts of me from the rotten.
To dream so snug within a cottage-cocoon, to feel the sunlight that comes in welcome soon-ness to the budding day, births dreams of Iron Man made butterflies.
Every wise hero realises that dreams come with price tags that have nothing to do with money. If heroic dreams were easy, if capes were free, everyone would have one and this world would be better already.
There are dreams that feel as nightmares yet are the way to a heavenly victory, and it feels as if this lifetime could be one of those. For the dream of the warrior is to fight the good fight, to take on any necessary suffering so that others have a greater chance at good health and wellness.
If I die in battle yet the ones I love are safe, then it is a greater dream than ever-safe while others suffer.
In my dream we were soldiers, you and I. We were dressed as soldiers are, in combat camouflage, guns at the ready. It was nighttime and we stared up a mighty cliff face, yet as we tried to climb the bullets came from all around. Together we fought them, shot dead each one, then resumed our task of reaching the higher ground.
I dreamt of a coin, old and covered in dirt, the engravings worn and the head of the king so tarnished as to be stolen from view. I held it in my left hand, watching the mud dirty my skin. So close to my face the coin had the aroma of stale blood. I turned to my right hand and in the palm was a new spring leaf, crowned by a perfect sphere of dew, reflecting an image of my face, softened and relaxed. When I turned back to the coin, the image of the king had freed himself and journeyed over to the leaf, igniting the growth of strong roots and new foliage that reached for the sunlight, robust, virescent.
The stain had vanished like it was never there in the first place, like the whole thing had been a visual joke. Tyler ran his hands over the fabric before holding it up to the brilliant early morning sun. There was no trace of red, black or any other colour. It was as clean as the day it was created and just as supple, just as beautiful. What had been there yesterday was already fading from his memory, as if it wasn't just erased from the silk, but from history all together. It had been words he was sure, but now that they were gone he felt himself begin to relax. Casting his eyes around him at the trees, listening to the birds, he quite forgot the fabric for a moment. Then when recalled he was holding something he looked down to find only white petals, which he instinctively released into the breeze and watched them float away.
After so long in the maze Shelly was confused as to which path to take. She'd sat there all day, lost, figuring she'd never get out, when Jess just walked right through the walls. She sat and stared as he passed through the maize stems into the still sunlit path. He smiles and beaconed her to come. "Follow me," he said with one of his sheepish grins. Shelly wrapped her fingers into his loose cotton shirt, her heart flooded with relief. She could have walked through them herself she supposed, but it was wonderful to have a guide.
I had thought my jail cell as real for so long that I never even checked to see if the walls were solid. I heard screams from other cells and they paralyzed me from even pushing on the door. Then one spring day when the brilliant light of dawn shone in, I stood and put my hand on the bars. With a prayer I pushed with all my might and a after a brief flash of pain the prison cell itself was left behind me on a hill. From the outside it was tiny, pathetic. After so long crouched in the dark I stood up and let the light warm my skin, my black hair flowing in a heavenly wind. Upon the walls written in stone were the words "fear" and "guilt." I threw my head toward the sky with relief, all I had to do was conquer those bullies all along, conquer them and be free.
In the dream I am sitting in a field of green wheat, the stalks bend lazily in the wind and I marvel at the grains. Each one is distinct and though different from the others, still perfectly formed. I run my hand along the edge to feel the combination of rough and smooth and then hold my face upward to feel the warm light of the mid summer day. The air smells just right and the birds fly in an almost cloudless sky. I start walking, the filed goes on forever and after a while my feet become roots, digging into the soil. My hands become green, soon I am also wheat, and I wave happily in the wind.
In the dream the sky is blue, the birds sing and there is a bee on clover nearby. The streams run clear and there are fish in the river. Next to me is a small boy and he tells me how he sees the world. His answers to my questions are so precious. I ask him if we should care for the world. He says "Yes" like he's surprised I should even have to ask. I ask him if we should be nice to animals, his response is the same. I ask him if we should kill or harm animals and his eyes fill with tears. I ask him if humans should kill one another and he runs, runs like he just saw a monster. I call after him but he won't return. He's a child, and like all children he's still able to see through the light of the creator - he was never taught the answers, he feels them within.
Have you ever had a dream so real you were confused when you woke up? Once when I was a little girl I dreamt that the grass in our backyard was blue. The blue grass rose up into the sky leaving perfect green grass underneath and painted the sky the same perfect shade those soft blades had been. That morning I didn't wake up sleepily, but instead like a switch had been flicked. I ran from my bed to the back yard. And you know what? The grass was green and the sky was blue. I told everyone where the blue grass had gone, but since I was five there was no suggestion I was crazy, just knowing smiles and nods. No-one could tell me it wasn’t real, I’d “seen it” happen and outside was the proof. Seeing is believing right? I guess that’s why I’m so comfortable talking to you. I can see you here with me. You aren’t quite solid yet, I don’t think you can be for a while, don't ask me why yet because you won't like the answer.
Authored by , here.
The dream comes often and only the ending changes. Sometimes I win and sometimes I loose. If I loose it's because I betrayed of love and trust of someone I love more than myself. So long as I do what I know is right, the dream turns out well. I have woken up from the dream many times feeling wretched for my mistakes, only for the blessed relief to come that I didn't really do those things, it was just a dream. Then though my heart feels wretched at least I can face the day. When the dream turns out well I'm never elated, just cosy, happy to stay at home and potter. I don't fear the dream, even when it's bad I welcome the message it brings. Stay true to the ones who love you and the ones you love back.
In my dream there are lights, too many to count, dancing on an ocean too vast to envisage. Each one is brilliant, each one unique. I want to look at each one for the marvel it is, for no matter how many there are no two colours are the same. The light that comes from within is more pure than gold, more light than air - each one a small piece of heaven. I try to reach out to them, who wouldn't want to touch something so pure. But the lights recoil in fright, they don't even know who they are. They chant that they feel ugly on the outside and worse on the inside. I can't understand until I take a look at the water, it looks fine but smells like something I wouldn't want to drink. But they're swimming in it, bobbing in it like it's a fine day at the beach. I want to tell them it's poison but they'll never listen. They laugh and carry on just as before, each one just as beautiful as the last but disconnected even from their inner light and beauty.
In my dream I saw a building grow into the sky, many strands of steel and glass like the stems of a wild plant, organic in shape, coming together and parting. It was a vertical city. Standing underneath and looking left and right, with only soil beneath my feet, it was at least three football stadiums wide and went up as far as the eye could see. All around was nature, just nature... and it was beautiful.