Dream

'Ay!' cried the child, in a burst of despair. 'I knew it could never be, I felt too sure of that, before I asked! But, all to-night, and last night too, it was the same. I never fall asleep, but that cruel dream comes back.'

'Try to sleep again,' said the old man, soothingly. 'It will go in time.'

Be open to your dreams, people. Embrace that distant shore. Because our mortal journey is over all too soon.

(David Assael)

When I woke up I was in a forest. The dark seemed natural, the sky through the pine trees thick with many lights. I knew nothing; I could do nothing but see. And as I watched, all the lights of heaven faded to make a single thing, a fire burning through the cool firs. Then it wasn´t possible any longer to stare at heaven and not be destroyed.

They say that you dream in black and white.

I am quite convinced, however, that I dream in shades of blue and green. I base this on my recollections in the morning.

[Text: Edgar Allan Poe (???), »A Dream,« from the Saturday Evening Post, August 13, 1831.]


A DREAM

A few evenings since, I laid myself down for my night's repose. It has been a custom with me, for years past, to peruse a portion of the scriptures before I close my
eyes in the slumbers of night. I did so in the present instance. By chance, I fell upon the spot where inspiration has recorded the dying agonies of the God of Nature.
Thoughts of these, and the scenes which followed his giving up the ghost, pursued me as I slept.

There is certainly something mysterious and incomprehensible in the manner in which the wild vagaries of the imagination often arrange themselves; but the solution
of this belongs to the physiologist rather than the reckless »dreamer.«

It seemed that I was some Pharisee, returning from the scene of Bath. I had assisted in driving the sharpest nails through the palms of Him who hung on the cross,
a spectacle of the bitterest woe that mortality ever felt. I could hear the groan that ran through his soul, as the rough iron grated on the bones when I drove it through.
retired a few steps from the place of execution, and turned around look at my bitterest enemy. The Nazarene was not yet dead: the life lingered in the mantle of clay,
as if it shuddered to walk alone through the valley of death. I thought I could see the cold damp that settles on the brow of the dying, now standing in large drops on
his. I could see each muscle quiver:--The eye, that began to lose its lustre in the hollow stare of the corpse. I could hear the low gurgle in his throat.--A moment,--and
the chain of existence was broken, and a link dropped into eternity.

I turned away, and wandered listlessly on, till I came to the centre of Jerusalem. At a short distance rose the lofty turrets of the temple; its golden roof reflected
rays as bright as the source from which they eminated [[sic]]. A feeling of conscious pride stole over me, as I looked over the broad fields and lofty mountains which
surrounded this pride of the eastern world. On my right rose Mount Olivet, covered with shrubbery and vineyards; beyond that, and bounding the skirts of mortal vision,
appeared mountains piled on mountains; on the left were the lovely plains of Judea; and I thought it was a bright picture of human existence, as I saw the little brook
Cedron speeding its way through the meadows, to the distant lake. I could hear the gay song of the beauteous maiden, as he gleaned in the distant harvest-field; and,
mingling with the echoes of the mountain, was heard the shrill whistle of the shepherd's pipe, as he called the wandering lamb to its fold. A perfect loveliness had
thrown itself over animated nature.

But, »a change soon came o'er the spirit of my dream;« I felt a sudden coldness creeping over me. I instinctively turned towards the sun, and saw a hand slowly
drawing a mantle of crepe over it. I looked for stars; but each one had ceased to twinkle; for the same hand had enveloped them in the badge of mourning. The silver
light of the moon did not dawn on the sluggish waves of the Dead Sea, as they sang the hoarse requiem of the cities of the Plain; but she hid her face, as if shuddering
to look on what was doing on the earth. I heard a muttered groan, as the spirit of darkness spread his pinions over an astonished world.

Unutterable despair now seized me. I could feel the flood of life slowly rolling back to its fountain, as the fearful thought stole over me, that the day of retribution
had come.

Suddenly, I stood before the temple. The veil, which had hid its secrets from unhallowed gaze, was now rent. I looked for a moment: the priest was standing by the
altar, offering up the expiatory sacrifice. The fire, which was to kindle the mangled limbs of the victim, gleamed for a moment, on the distant walls, and then 'twas lost
in utter darkness. He turned around, to rekindle it from the living fire of the candlestick; but that, too, was gone. – 'Twas still as the sepulchre.

I turned, and rushed into the street. The street was vacant. No sound broke the stillness, except the yell of the wild dog, who revelled on the half-burnt corpse in the
Valley of Hinnom. I saw a light stream from a distant window, and made my way towards it. I looked in at the open door. A widow was preparing the last morsel she
could glean, for her dying babe. She had kindled a little fire; and I saw with what utter hopelessness of heart she beheld the flame sink away, like her own dying hopes.

Darkness covered the universe. Nature mourned, for its parent had died. The earth had enrobed herself in the habiliments of sorrow, and the heavens were clothed
in the sables of mourning. I now roamed in restlessness, and heeded not whither I went. At once there appeared a light in the east. A column of light shot athwart the
gloom, like the light-shot gleams on the darkness of the midnight of the pit, and illumined the sober murkiness that surrounded me. There was an opening in the vast
arch of heaven's broad expanse. With wondering eyes, I turned towards it.

Far into the wilderness of space, and at a distance that can only be meted by a »line running parallel with eternity,« but still awfully plain and distinct, appeared the
same person whom I had clothed with the mock purple of royalty. He was now garmented in the robe of the King of kings. He sat on his throne; but 'twas not one of
whiteness. There was mourning in heaven; for, as each angel knelt before him, I saw that the wreath of immortal amaranth which was wont to circle his brow, was
changed for one of cypress.

I turned to see whither I had wandered. I had come to the burial ground of the monarch of Israel. I gazed with trembling, as I saw the clods which covered the
mouldering bones of some tyrant begin to move. I looked at where the last monarch had been laid, in all the splendour and pageantry of death, and the sculptured
monument began to tremble. Soon it was overturned, and from it issued the tenant of the grave. 'Twas a hideous, unearthly form, such as Dante, in his wildest flights
of terrified fancy, ne'er conjured up. I could not move, for terror had tied up volition. It approached me. I saw the grave-worm twining itself amongst the matted locks
which in part covered the rotten scull. The bones creaked on each other as they moved on the hinges, for its flesh was gone. I listened to their horrid music, as this
parody on poor mortality stalked along. He came up to me; and, as he passed, he breathed the cold damps of the lonely, narrow house directly in my face. The chasm
in the heavens closed; and, with a convulsive shudder, I awoke.

I had a dream that I broke my glasses somehow and they had 3 eye lenses instead of two. The left one was fine, the middle was crumpled and the right was bent in half. I guess they were plastic lenses.
I wonder what this meant. My left lense was fine. My middle was crumpled, which must be my third eye, the part that senses things, the part that causes emotion. My right one was bent in half, which is my right brain, where the artistic side of a person comes out. The left side is more, well I'd rather not use that side except that writing is from the left side of your brain.
I still don't know what it meant.

Dreams are the key to reality. All of our alternative selves are brought to us as our hidden possibilities. We enter other realities, other times, other spaces, and enrich ourselves.