Sorry I have been so distant. The other night I was lounging around and a long missed feeling reoccured: I wanted to paint. So I painted. Man, how I have missed that. I just relaxed and painted, listened to The Black Keys for a while. The last time I listened to them while painting was at a really crazy time in my life. I would see this guy nightly, we were both 'late night owls', he showed me so many beautiful sights in town. It was really nice to have someone to show you things, thats really all that matters to me: That you show me beautiful things, tell me stories or just share something with me and you will have my heart for ever. In that time of my life I painted every night, all night. Inspiration has just been so lacking. Last night I felt so deprived of a lot of things not solely creativity. I felt really weak so I took a late night shower, a really quick shower , went outside to gaze at the 'supermoon' for a time and layed down.

I wish that you could see my room, its so calming to me. I bring a little bit of nature indoors. I have trees and flowers, beautiful rocks and just nice things that compliment the white walls and barely green ceiling which gives the light such a soothing feeling. I have two windows, I havent opened them in some time though. Anyway I layed there recollecting the past night's painting session and why all of a sudden I wanted to paint. I remembered that I was recalling a series of dreams that I've had for the past year or two, and the new addition to the series that occured this week. Ive always wanted to write about these dreams but always ended up writting about others.

There is a man who haunts some of my most beautiful dreams. Always he is in shadow form, or very normal in appereance but when he is, I cannot seem to get a glimpse of his face. Until December of last year. December 29th to be exact. (I wrote the date down, maybe that gives you an idea of my feelings toward these dreams) That dream on a December night was about me leaving him to be free, very much immitating my waking life relationships, I was about to leave when he would not let go and I saw his face! I do not know a man resembling him in my life. Anyway the dream progressed and I got to know him so much more. He was perfect. One of the things that puzzles me about these dreams is how relevant to my waking life personality, or interests they are. This man had built me a house, a dream house, in it he had a library for me. The first book he showed me to make it known how interested in me he was, (as if building me a home wasn't enough) was Benoit Mandelbrot's 'Fractals: Form, Chance and Dimension.'! I have longed for that book for the longest time just so you know the shock value to me personally. ...I dont want to bore you with matters of details. Long story short since that dream where I saw this man's face I hadn't dreamt of him for sometime. Until very recently. Looking back, he always comes in times of trouble.

In this dream I turned on a video camera and layed down in this sofa with this man sitting in a chair infront of me. With the video camera recording he proceeded to play a guitar for me. The most beautiful sounds filled my dreams that night. In this dream he said that the only way he would play was for me, or to me, that watching me was like reading music and if I wanted to relive the music I had to record the moment from which it was created. That night I did not see his face once again, he sat in the shadows of the room we were in.

Those are my dreams, aren't they something? They make me feel really happy for some reason and while remembering them often times I start to daydream, and then Imagination finds its way to me resulting in many more beautiful things. An artist's inspiration, I've always believed can come in many forms. Its becoming more apparent that an artist's muse needs not roam the reality in which they create. Happiness.

Should I share my dream? Should I keep my dream? I will share.. Do you know there are tribes that practice collective dreaming? 'Every morning they wake up and they share the content of their dream, they do this because they believe nobody dreams for the individual. I mean, they have individual dreams but their larger purpose is to help them understand a collective experience. So a person will wake up in the morning and they'll share a bit of their dream, then somebody else will share, then somebody else will share... Its usually the elder of the household that then interprets this and they come up with a collective interpretation of their individual experiences, In such a way that they'll use it to predict their practice. So, should they go hunting today, should they go fishing, will there be visitors, should they travel, will there be danger..... These kinds of insights about the future come through the sharing of dreams, so its not just a luxury to share your dreams with one another, but its actually a social responsibility. So subjectivity is highly honored and esteemed for its reliability rather than suspect for its unreliability because it cannot be easily measured.'-Dr. Marilyn Schlitz. It may be embarrassing, but as much as I read in my waking life is probably how much I read while asleep. One day I remember having a conversation on death (one of my favorite subjects) with a friend of mine, and recalling reading this book on death, I started to say something. When I realized, I don't own this book, I haven't been to any library, where would I have read this? Then the dream slowly came back to me. Okay. Here it is, just one of many, open for the collective: I was sitting in this chair that was [I think] for royalty, it was gold and rose, so beautiful. And I was reading this huge book, the writing was old english and so nicely done. Have you seen Carl Jung's Red Book? Thats kind of how it looked, only glittering and bigger. I remember reading accounts of death, one I remember was of how it felt to burn to death. These were first hand accounts by the way. It surprised me how calming dying was, I thought burning would be horrific, yet I was being described the most romantic experience. I can only remember so much, but it [the dream] has never faded. Something so vivid in my mind was reading the account of someone who had drowned, something I thought of as an agonizing death, and yet, again, the experience being conveyed onto me was one of such peace. The levels of consciousness so beautifully expressed. After reading the drowning account I look around the room for the first time in the dream, I realize I'm in a library filled with countless books like the one I'm reading. Theres a window also, looking around theres a small, circular window, it is now known I'm probably in the lower levels of a ship, I look outside and the undersea life looks back at me. I wake up. So beautiful right? Maybe one of my favorite dreams. It reminds me of something Jimi Hendrix says that I really love,

"..cause human beings die too easily..";)

From an old post in my older blog, October 28, 2010

Take this: Right now your probably reading this in your head with this voice that is unspoken, maybe like your conscience?, and its not like in the movies where this voice is an exact double for your 'real' voice. This voice is more romantic in a way, more poetic. and it follows you through life sometimes thinking things that compliment your now, or others that could not be farther from it. I have always used this voice, sometimes its very quiet, so quiet you cant even hear it but you KNOW you had a thought, and what thought you had. How is this possible? It really goes hand in hand with so many theories already in my head that at midnight last night all of these theories, thoughts, my logic, and philosophy on life aligned and this voice was the leader behind this event, and last night I felt for this moment that I knew it all, I had no questions because what this voice hinted at was so marvelous. Anyway I got to this all by briefly listening to a conversation on reincarnation and, I so far, dont know if i believe in it. I have lent an ear to it before and I think wrongly labeled it a reason for some things in my life. This whole reincarnation subject got me thinking to reevaluate if I still didn't believe in it (because these things change, you know (depending on how much thinking is involved)) and in thinking, I was using this voice I mentioned earlier, the same one you have, well and I imagined myself later in this life, I still had this voice and I imagined myself in various dying scenarios (a favorite past time of mine) and in all of them I still had this voice telling me, "your dying look around you" or "this is what it feels to die" something of that nature and then I realized that no matter what I theorize or have come to speculate on death, I do not know what is on the other side. But I do know this: That in my dreams I have this voice, and that in my heart of hearts I cannot imagine all this voice consists of to be lost or stopped only to reincarnate again. How did it begin? ..and for a moment I was so deep in thought that I could fathom various afterlife possibilities with my 'voice' allowed, and in those reincarnation was just so laughable. Because this voice is timeless and eternal, because of the infinity in the Now it is filled with the truest truths so it is light as a feather and easy to carry. I for a moment knew I carried a piece of nothing, everything. you know? I felt like this voice was the essence of my known experience and potential all together, that I was both alive and dead now. I was being born and dying in this moment of thought. I could almost feel the ticks on the clock forever slowing down. I was just a little spec, the spec. The whole picture. I understood everything without knowing what even I was understanding; you know, I knew all by knowing I knew not a thing. Now take this: You've read this with your own 'voice' which really is mine, or as mine as anything could be, but it is not, because its in your head now, or are you in this instant me? (keep in mind I am in a different space, and time even, i am on a different path having a totally different experience.) How could this be? Now the only truth I have come to accept as such has come from nature, and it [nature] has not failed me in this, nor do I believe it ever will because the answer to the question this entire thought seems to pose can only be seen, and not necessarily with eyes be it that as these thoughts filled my head they turned colors and swirled into one another. Beautiful fractals.