The dreams and the dreamer.

” […] Now here I go again, I see, the crystal visions I keep my visions to myself It’s only me Who wants to wrap around your dreams and Have you any dreams you’d like to sell? Dreams of loneliness…Like a heartbeat drives you mad…In the stillness of remembering What you had And what you lost…What you had…Ooh, what you lost

Thunder only happens when it’s raining Players only love you when they’re playing Women, they will come and they will go When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know […]   – (Dreams) Fleetwood Mac 

*my emphasis*

***

20180502_131723

Madrid Street – Digital photograph – Michael Burns

Dreams have always intrigued me. They are visual things. In a visual language. Although dream mouths move, they don’t really say anything, its all abstract and surreal sometimes like a Dali painting. As one thing flows into the next…

“The cat ate the sun and now its going rain tomorrow.” are words easily spoken in what is thought to be a dream language. But it isn’t, it your own language, its you speaking to yourself without the intrusion of the reality that you live in. Using an ancient language that was are only language, that we no longer speak or understand but was expressed on cave walls long ago. And gave inspiration and encouragement to the artist that is the dreamer to express outside of the dream world.

I keep having this dream about being chased, and I am on a high roof some five stories above the ground. I look over the edge and there the ground is tens of feet below. It is at night and the wind is howling around me and a snow is blown in my face, its lightly snowing, but very cold and blowing.

I move around the edges of the roof looking for a way down to the ground below. I find a steel ladder attached to the brick wall of the building leading down to a steel fire escape and onto the floor below me, and a hole in that steel fire escape platform with another of the same steel ladder attached the brick wall below that…I move to it and descend and its a bit shaky, and I drop onto the platform, descend the hole and drop onto the next platform below. I keep doing this over and over and over. The cold makes my hand stick to steel rungs like a wet tongue and I keep descending to the next fire escapes below. I wonder at how ridiculous this is, I’m only 50 or 60 feet of the ground. How many floors are in this building, I ask myself?

After getting very good at trying different ways of descending to the next floor below. Sometimes just dropping through the hole; sliding down on the heavy steel ladder edges. “What is going on here?” I ask myself, and so I’ve had enough and jump over the rail and drop fast and for what seems a long time, with cold wind whistling around me. And land ever so softly in the snow. I look back and men are yelling and shouting at me angrily and off I run faster faster and faster. I find I am having a good time, the cold no longer bothers me and the snow is starting to taste sweet. The air in my lungs passing through and exhaling feels like it is the first time that it has been breathed, so clean and cold and potent with oxygen.

I dream every night. And oh does the soul love adventure. It craves it and I believe is immortal at this act.

I sometimes dream epic things, like a long visual poem as it dances through the stillness of my resting head. Involving other realities of my own creation I would imagine… some places I dream of, I ask myself later if I have been there, and I have sometimes; half remembered them, as a child’s memory and from waking from such dreams I remember the tastes and taste them, and remember the odors and scents and smell them still, and throughout the day those flavors and scents linger on.

Dreams are in our own personal languages, I think. They speak of a being that is fearless and immortal. The languages of ourselves, only known to us and it seems most times when I speak with others. That they do not know it meaning. Many people tell me they do not dream, and I find that very odd.

Jung said that we are dreaming all the time, but that we all share that waking dream, and at night, at sleep we experience it alone.

“Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”
C.G. Jung

Dreaming is compensation it would seem, to ourselves. The inner soul and being that soothes that savage and suffering ego with a salve made of the truth about ourselves. Point blank, it never lies. No holes barred, these are sometimes very painful truths about ourselves and the language is ambiguous sometimes and dreamy are the symbols, generic and many many others that our deeply personal symbols, and if not explored, will remain uncyphered. Unknown to us as waking beings.

One must like looking inside as much as they like living in solitude and living alone. And we are that, always alone, even when surrounded with people. The separation from self is what makes us think that we are not alone. The conditioning of the collective creates the air of togetherness, but it is not there, its an illusion.

When one looks inside doors open and large amounts of imagery pass through from a limitless imagination and personally created space that encapsulates and sometimes imprisons the soul. One can make that a cell, no bigger than a eight by eight room, or expand it to encompass galaxies. To the being that is now… the ideas of a possible past life start to take root and one wonders more easily about those topics. It is the conditioning reality that states how mad that idea is, and the topic is about belief of transmigration of a soul. And dreams are proof of something greater than what we are at present in light of what has never been experienced, but only dreamt.

I’m a painter and a visual learning, so imagery is extremely important to me, in fact very important and I think many times I have become lucid within the dreamscape as I might rise really late into the night to relieve myself, half awake stumbling through the darkness to the washroom, only to return and take up where I left off, within a matter of minutes its seems.

I am, an active dreamer who does not fear the dark or that world of the dark psyche. It has feed my vision as a painter and I have written many a thing acquired in the dream world.

“Not all dreams are of equal importance. Even primitives distinguish between ‘little’ and ‘big’ dreams, or, as we might say, ‘insignificant’ and ‘significant’ dreams. Looked at more closely, ‘little’ dreams are the nightly fragments of fantasy coming from the subjective and personal sphere, and their meaning is limited to the affairs of the everyday. That is why such dreams are easily forgotten, just because their validity is restricted to the day-to-day fluctuations of the psychic balance. Significant dreams, on the other hand, are often remembered for a lifetime, and not infrequently prove to be the richest jewel in the treasure-house of psychic experience.” – Carl Jung

Significant dreams: those dreams that one has over a lifetime and I have those kinds of dreams, one in particular has followed me, or I have followed it since my childhood. Back then it manifested sometimes into terrors at night and sweat drenched and vocal nightmares that have woke my partner.

It has been the calm place in well needed emotional rest and has been the island I have sought free from a tumult world of my everyday mind and a insane world. It is a reprieve and rest from the sometimes felt sentence of life.

The dream world is where I have gained my best ideas. The very first paintings I painted, were there. The dream world is my own created personal reality, a space that must be expanded to encompass even greater space. I had forgotten that for a moment.