I recognize myself outside of my self and every time this happens it feels like the first time, again. Rising Phoenix, courage and tenacity redefined daily– in you I see my curiosity: how elegant is your jaté, as you dance dawn across the silken twilight legacy of the omniscient harvest moon.
I recognize myself out of myself and every time my breath escapes me: in his eyes my spark sees her reflection; the orb of glowing noon dancing on the Willamette river; spitfire light wild and free playing trapeze with the wind and elliptical slip and swoon, graceful as the dawn of time, floating a simple song, writing its story as it makes its way.
Every time that I see myself clearly is recognizance, is the first time again: if I am not growing, I must be dead. Prism and white light, with your true and pure dynamism I see myself in you, through you. We share a what. We share the crystalline flakes of the purest substance of the what, it’s the mechanism through which our soul breathes. I was wondering if all humans are born with the same kernel of what. I think perhaps this is not the case.
The brain stem in stage four of sleep shoots off random neurons. Stage four of sleep must be achieved for the shooting spark of momentary life in the discharge of ideas because the body is in a state of temporary paralysis. I exist a millions of time I will never recall in life. What I am able to recall upon waking are often those firing that my mind makes psychological sense of. I Intuit that I can recall a memory of my dream in these cases because they are archetypal. They are recognized and registered, a reiteration in cloaked in mystery shrouded in the truth of recognizance without footprint, without real life experience rooted in the recognition.
And so i think it goes that souls and people who populate this earth and disappear as soon as they appear, a lifetime measured in breaths. Some people here contain secrets. They have souls that see the connections and intensities, the relationship and creativity, the mystery the awe the splendor the invisible the curvature the translucent multi-stratified layers and their consciousness gives re-creates the world again through their gaze, adding another dimension or 3 to a hologram surface. They recognize the structure and function of the smoke and mirrors and see through it to the blueprint behind the opaque wall. They recognize what they have yet to experience. They acknowledge the duality of opposing forces and see the people oscillating between the polar binaries like flint lit sparks from metal charged with heartbeats traveling according to the push and pull of opposing magnets. Feeling free and blind to the forces, un observable for omnipresent and powerful, rearranging the possibilities of cue balls allowing the cogs to feel free.
Some people see their place inside of the paradox and become the exception. To do so, one must surrender ones will to their predetermined destiny towards transformation and transmutation. The sensation of power in the feeling of free will is lost. But the ego no longer needs fuel. Power is food for the ego. Accepting ones moment of a life and the dual nature of the great divine orchestra performs a paradox in it of itself: the sacrifice of free will as a hole in the whole, one in a composite one, a rhizome in the universal flowering, liberates one beyond the capacity of those who believe they are free according to their will.
5 am. Still can’t sleep. really, really really hungry. store not open. can’t sleep. ill keep trying. this helped.
Scratching the surface of sleep: with the crescent of a mind, and waxing subjectivity by the by the breath, sleep stage #1 ushers the unconscious into the scenery of my minds’ eye.
I absolves into a removed viewer, leagues under the sea. Deep water, like deep space, appears black. Black as the underbelly of a weathered hand coated in oil, where only the crease and motions of sweeping lines remain self-reflective. Under the sea, these lines were the echoing treads of small fish. The Fins waving like flags in the wind, sent ripples that danced in coordination. Half-aware, half analyzing possible meaning, my phantom dream right hand began to throb: a pulsating ache combined with a hollow whistling of my joints–the chilly sensation of cold, dry wind rustling through the emptiness of an abandoned attic. Until this point “I” had no “body”;”I” could not be located.
My grandmother was sleeping upstairs directly above me, and she thinks her hand is broken. She is not typically one to make a fuss or complain, so I know her right hand is in a lot of pain. In my dream, I saw the fish of my grandma and watched the echoing treads make their way and splash into me, and I felt another pang in my right hand. Dream empathy of the unconscious.
Pandora’s Box. Russian Doll. The maze I got lost in when I was 4 years old.
This dream is similar to those things and experiences.
Woke up, by alarm, ordered body to drag itself out of bed, put contacts in, and the body followed orders. I woke up, realized the first dragging was an illusion and I was still under covers eyes closed and all. I dragged myself up out of bed. I woke up, I realized I twice dreamed the illusion of this moment and woke up, initiating morning routine, for real, unsuctioned my eyes from the resistance of a sea muscle, latching lids, did my morning routine. I woke up, realized it was an illusion. Realized I was dreaming illusions. Despite my dream determination, the inability to turn off this cyclic entrapment inside the dream persisted, repeating waking up and reawakening up and reawakening up until another alarm went off an hour later. I got up, and have yet to wake up again from this potential illusion of a dream morning.
Why was this dream an echo of itself? Before I fell asleep videotape streamed against the green screen that is inside of closed eyes, remembering my earliest memories, dreams and nightmares. Some memories I realized what felt like the first time since they occurred: a wild experience. I closed my eyes sometime after midnight, and when I reopened then it was 1:40 am, and all of those memories and emotions parachuting them had been running for about an hour. I recall smirking to myself, because I fall asleep to The Office to distract such distractions at night. I put on the office, Gay Witch Hunt (one of my all-time favorite episodes) and coaxed myself to sleep.
When you stare out into the universe, the universe stares back.
Now, imagine a fish.
The philosophical statement and the concept of a fish fit into a common associative category, or at least, it feels like the two fit together better than they don’t fit together.
I’m still reading Memories, Dreams & Reflections by Carl Jung, and once again, a simple statement he made in passing warped my mind into a whirlpool. He was describing a dream of his with a fish which he referred to as “…an unconscious and mute fish…”
It seems strange to me that unconscious and mute were explicitly stated: both are implicit assumptions when conceptualizing a fish. From there my mind wandered, wondering if unconscious and mute were used to describe the fish as a literary function, like an inverted mirror, functioning to point out to the reader that the non-fish and human characters in the dream are vocal and conscious creatures.
When you stare out into the universe, the universe stares back; however, the sense or feeling of the universe staring back is elusive and evades all quantification and calculations that could prove this using the scientific method. Such is the way of transcendental beliefs and a test of spiritual resolve: faith is acknowledged in silence.
A fish underwater may stare at the surface, and from above one may stare back. However, the mute and unconscious fish does not know the presence as the presence knows it, sensing it yet not with a mutual understanding.
Infinity is two-sided. Staring into the universe is the infinite, and staring into the unconscious is infinitesimal: macro and micro representations of infinity.
Truth is constantly unfolding, and at this moment the above statement is my closest understanding in investigating my associate between the philosophical statement and the idea of a fish.
In the 9th grade, my world literature teacher assigned a task of memorization: every student assumed a monologue or soliloquy from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and preformed the piece in front of the class. I was 14 years old. Eight years wedge time passed between Then and Now. Since the very day I realized that I have forgotten the monologue, the sing song meter of the lyric continues to torture me, half synced in a diluted memory.
Today, I went on a very long walk and found a paperback only bookstore that I had never seen before. With books spilling out the windows and overflowing buckets, who wouldn’t have entered? I stumbled upon a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and flipped through the pages searching for the monologue I remember that I forgot. And I found it! Finally! I read it with the fluency of riding a bicycle. I am archiving this re-discovery for myself so next time the meter sticks in my mind, I can try to recite the words right out of my head. Without further ado:
ACT II SCENE I
Set your heart at rest:
The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votaress of my order:
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip’d by my side,
And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands,
Marking the embarked traders on the flood,
When we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait
Following,–her womb then rich with my young squire,–
Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
To fetch me trifles, and return again,
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
And for her sake do I rear up her boy,
And for her sake I will not part with him.