The Faces of Dreams

Many things are dreams.

Dreams are gibberish, sorting through all our bits and pieces as we sleep, presenting us with a crazy quilt of things that don't usually go together.

Some dreams are not gibberish. They tell you stories and when you think about the story, you can see what you are in the game of life. The dreams that hold endless stairs to climb, relentless shooting elevators that stop at the wrong floors, and being locked out, going the long, long way around to get back to a place that moves and changes, these dreams are a mirror. While unsettling, these dreams reveal your state of being. These dreams do not stop. However, they will change as you do. Running in place like a cartoon character will cease when you take action in your waking life. Would that it would be rosy and posy dreams ever after, but no.

These dreams see you the naked of nakedest and see before you do, the state of your being. These dreams change but go on. Being chased, chased, chased, and lost, forever lost, and climbing stairs going up, up, up; Each phase of dreaming is relentless until you change in real life. Elevators that zoom up and down at alarming speeds, being late and lost, forever lost, looking wistfully at the rooms of students and walking by, and forever by, knowing this is not my place as I search and search; These dreams are relentless, changing as I change in real life.Real live waking life.

Yesterday, the Church chased me as I slept. I searched my building, my big, big building, for something important but I still don't know what. The building changes and grows as I search and I am chased by the Church.
No. The church did not chase me.
It was worse.
It anticipated me and had services in huge rooms next to wherever I went. I liked the singing. I am a sucker for the singing, but I still say No thank you, firmly, every time until I get fed up! Get thee behind me Satan!,  I scream at the sweet, grandfatherly Church Usher who has been nothing but sweet, sweet, sweet, but when Mr. Sweet shows up in the Green Room before my show, I go ballistic, and kick him and his sweet posse out. 
Tonight my dreams hold buildings that grow, grow, grow. Everything is tilted on its ear, the streets changing locations and melting into the sea as I search on, forever lost, without quite knowing what I seek. My building is big. Huge. I can always find my way back. Buildings to Oceans. Building to Oceans. Both are my home.

Dreams we make up are our highest fairy tale aspirations. This kind of dream fuels our journeys. Sometimes when you get close to this kind of dream, you realize that your dream is better than the reality. Your version of your dream is sugar plums and cotton candy, with no mention of sharks and hungry tigers. Up close, close to living your dream, you can see the sharks and tigers swarm.



Some dreams are Holy and entirely different from the dreams that are gibberish and the dreams that are not gibberish.


These dreams are a gift from...
These dreams are a gift from?
These dreams are a gift.

In one such dream I  was drowning, trying to swim through rocks and seaweed and a Voice said  "You do not have to go that way." I changed course and swam through clear waters, bursting through the surface, gasping but alive. I see myself walk down a sunlit beach. To this day, I can hear this Voice saying "You do not have to go that way," if I find myself drowning in any which way. I can turn. I can go another way if I've ventured into treacherous waters.

There are dreams. There are dreams, and there are dreams.