To Dream

More than to dream, but to walk in the visions that unfold before my eyes; to believe that they are the reality, the “awakeness” and the reality an illusion manufactured by the five senses of the physical body. That is where my thoughts have gone these past few days – so untoward what I’ve been taught to believe as being truth and reality.

I have even uttered on my web blog, spoken the words, planted the seed of suggestion, that reality is what we believe to be fantasy and that what we believe to be is reality (that which can only be defined by the physical senses) is not.

More and more I come to see (not with physical eyes) that the world I walk about in is something painted by my mind; it is a portrayal of an inner thing…a canvass that I have painted. If it be a dark and gloomy place, then it is solely at my authorship, my creation. I do want to walk around in a dark and gloomy place; but to walk around in a place that is painted whilst asleep, where my mind and thought processes are not hampered by the lies of the physical world. That is the world I wish to see, to belong to, as I walk about on Mother Earth. Is it that what I dream wishes to become my reality? Is it that it is my intuition, my inner self, my “real” self, telling me of what in fact my life is all about?

Is it that my dreams and my visions are the reality and I need only believe, take that first step of faith, and the golden path will unfold before me, one brick at a time; the dawn will dawn a new dawn, the sun (son) shine more gloriously than I could possibly “dream up?”

I have seen many visions in what we call our “awakened” state. In fact I wrote in my journal in May 2001 what ultimately became a reality on September 11^th in New York City. My interpretation at the time was that it was an event that would occur in Toronto (the NY City of the North). The dream was precise, very detailed – and did become a reality. It’s not the only dream I’ve had that has unfolded to become what we call reality. The substance and facts of the dream…what would actually happen were correct…but the people and locations were not. My dreams about accidents have been about family members; they have happened, but not to the person whom I dreamt about. It got to the point where if I told a family member I’d had a dream, they would say, “Please tell me it was about me.” They’d know that they were okay; that it wasn’t them who was going to have the accident.

I’ve not had a lot of dreams as of late. Is it because I’ve ignored those that were given to me; that I never shared, perhaps even with strangers like you, those dreams? You know there is a saying, “If you don’t use it you lose it.” Have I lost it; is it dead, gone away? Or, is it just asleep, waiting for me to ask, to give it permission to speak again?

I want to dream again, to know again – but for purposes not self-aggrandizing, but for purposes that might be of benefit to a world that is lost.

I need to give my self permission to speak; the inner child that has gone silent; to speak and to let it know it will be heard, I will believe and I will act accordingly.

I share with you a reading I read this morning by Kahlil Gibran, one of my favourite writers. His writings are “weird” by worldly standards and likely why I’d connected with his writings over 20 years ago. In retrospect, it’s like I was being trained through his writings, attuned for that which would unfold in my own physical life, for I can say without a doubt that my thoughts and my words have unfolded much like his writings.

Enjoy this writing by Gibran, and let your dreams unfold for they are, my friends, your reality; your Holy Messenger, speaking to you, inviting you to step out into the Light of Reality, the Light of Love~~~

The Goddess of Fantasy (Kahlil Gibran)

And after a wearying journey I reached the ruins of Palmyra. There I dropped, exhausted, upon the grass that grew among columns shattered and levelled by the ages. They looked like the debris left by invading armies.

At nightfall, as the black mantle of silence enfolded all creatures, I savoured a strange scent in the air. It was as fragrant as incense and as inebriating as wine. My spirit opened her mouth to sip the ethereal nectar. Then a hidden hand seemed to press upon my senses and my eyelids grew heavy, while my spirit felt freed of its shackles.

Then the earth swayed under me and the sky trembled over me: whereupon I leaped up as though raised by a magic power. And I found myself in a meadow the like of which no human being has ever fancied. I found myself in the midst of a host of virgins who wore no other raiment than the beauty God gave them. They walked around me, but their feet touched not the grass. They chanted hymns expressing dreams of love. Each maiden played on a lute framed with ivory and strung with gold.

I came upon a vast clearing in the center of which stood a throne inlaid with previous stones and illuminated with the rays of the rainbow. The virgins stood at both sides, raised their voices and faced the direction whence came the scent of myrrh and frankincense. The trees were in bloom and from between the branches, laden with blossoms, a queen walked majestically to the throne. As she seated herself, a flock of doves, white as snow, descended and settled around her feet and formed a crescent, while the maidens chanted hymns of glory. I stood there watching what no man’s eyes had seen, and hearing what no man’s ears had heard.

Then the Queen motioned, and silence fell. And in a voice that caused my spirit to quiver like the strings of the lute under a player’s fingers, she said, “I have called you, man, for I am the Goddess of Fantasy. I have bestowed upon you the honour of standing before me, the Queen of the prairies of dreams. Listen to my commandments, for I appoint you to preach them to the whole human race: explain to man that the city of dreams is a wedding feast at whose door a mighty giant stands on guard. No one may entr unless he wears a wedding garment. [My Comment: How like Scripture (Bible/Torah) does this sound...where people are invited to a wedding feast....]. Let it be known that this city is a paradise whose sentinel is the angel of Love [My Comment: how like the Garden of Eden is this, when Adam & Eve blew it and got kicked out, to labour the rest of their lives and angels were posted to stand guard that none might enter?], and no human may glance at it save he on whose forehead the sign of Love is inscribed.

Picture to them these beautiful fields whose streams flow with nectar and wine, whose birds sail in the skies and sing with the angels. Describe the aromatic scent of the flowers and let it be known that only the Son of Dream may tread it soft grass. [My Comment: Just this past week I wrote a blog where I was standing at the window looking out upon fields and mountains; hesitant to step out onto the soft flowing meadows, into the light; fearful that I might damage that upon which I tread. Is this then a prelude to what I was to read this day? I dismiss it not!]

“Say that I gave man a cupful of joy; but he, in his ignorance, poured it out. Then the angels of Darkness filled the cup with the brew of Sorrow which he drank and became inebriated.

‘Say that none can play the lyre of Life unless his fingers have been blessed by my touch and his eyes sanctified (My Comment: to “sanctify” is to “set apart”…for a special reason, special thing] by the sight of my throne.

Isaiah composed words of wisdom as a necklace of precious stones mounted on the golden chain of my love; Saint John recounted his vision in my behalf. And Dante could not explore the haven of souls save by my guidance. I am metaphor embracing reality, and reality revealing the singleness of the spirit; and a witness confirming the deeds of the gods.

Truly I say to you that thoughts have a higher dwelling place than the visible world, and its skies are not clouded by sensuality. Imagination finds a road to the realm of the gods, and there man can glimpse that which is to be after the soul’s liberation from the world of substance.”

And the Goddess of Fantasy drew me toward her with her magic glance and imprinted a kiss upon my burning lips and said, “Tell them that he who passes not his days in the realm of dreams is the slave of the days.”

Thereupon the voices of the virgins rose again and the column of incense ascended. Then the earth began to sway again and the sky to trembled; and suddenly I found myself again among Palmyra’s sorrowful ruins.

The smiling Dawn had already made its appearance and between my tongue and my lips were these words:

“He who passes not his days in the realm of dreams is the slave of the days.”

There is a Scripture, actually a psalm (which is a song; that’s what the psalms are) that David prayed unto the Lord, where he asks that, “the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable unto Thee O Lord.” I’ve often asked the same thing, but then one morning as I was headed into work, to an office environment where very often my words, I am most certain, would not be pleasing to the Lord, it dawned on me that perhaps those words were indeed spoken by David, but not in that order. It made more sense to change their order, especially in light of the Scripture that tells us that it is, “out of the issues of the heart,” that things arise, be they labelled good or bad. The psalm reads: