Dream Images

I had to go to the mainland for an errand and was returning to the main ship on the ferries.  We dock and rather than jockeying for position I look at the view until I end up at the back of the line without a care about it.  There is something I loathe about being in a hurry in a crowd. Sooner or later, everyone gets off so why bother feeling an ounce of stress over it? But as I walk up the ramp, the hydraulics start operating and it begins to elevate the ramp closer to the ceiling.  I have to crawl to try and make it before it closes.  And then I start rolling toward the narrow opening but get stuck.  It holds me there with my face pressed between the ramp and the ceiling. The others board on the other side and we return to the mainland while I watch the main ship take off and recede toward the horizon.  And I see my squished face from a bird’s eye view trailing the boat and I look so ridiculous. Like some foolish clown or comedian stuck in a pinch. I wonder if I should’ve cared about being first off the ferry in the first place. Because now I’m paying an absurdly heavy price for being so nonchalant. But at least the ramp didn’t crush my head so I’m lucky in some respect. Finally we dock and the ramp releases me. Abandoned, I wander through the streets wondering what to do and where to go until I hear people screaming around the corner. Something is happening and it sounds terrible. A major flood of water rushes and swings from around the corner. Waves smash into the streets. I’m running as fast as I can.  Many people are running up some stairs. I follow them to a third story balcony of some corporate building and we watch the city float by as if we were back on the main ship.

Here are some images I put together based on this dream of monoliths floating down the old archetypal river.

soft dunes of sleep

For all my fellow insomniacs out there who are told that all you need is exercise and a good diet but still cannot find a good night’s rest, I offer you some softer terrain to think of as we try to drift off into that simulated flight. Waiting for dreams to spill into the basin, hear the distant soft tones of sleep approaching. Fly through this place where scarcity becomes abundance of spirit. Step toward the rigid lines that fall off gently into space. Let the anxious thoughts from daily life fall away like sand blowing over the ridge of a dune. And land on that clean plate of consciousness where you finally arrive at these restorative forms that were always there inside you waiting like the cool shadows of soft dunes.

simulated flight
hard soft line
dream spill
abundance in scarcity
distant soft tones
cool shadows

Do you imagine terrain like me in order to help take the mind off of sleep while going to sleep? Well, I hope this helped someone. And now I’m signing off (3:03am) to do the same. Good night and sweet dreams.

mind jelly

scattered on the old river
flakes of light
flutter in the breeze
like passing thoughts 

a seed
finds purchase 
in such barren ground

some crust 
as thin as an eggshell
divides waters

details
flutter in the belly
of the mind, why?

blue lines

The delicate visual gift called the horizon is an illusion of perspective that appeals to the edge detection of our eyesight. In the early morning, the desert and its mountains form these color fields out of which blue lines seem to exist. These lines are not meant for me to catch them with anything but my eyesight. They are like ideas better to contemplate than pursue. Like imaginary directions to a place of hope. Or it’s a quiet message telling us how to feel the distances in which we exist.

interlocked and honey-coated

Honey seeps through the interlock of trees that the bear must enter to find what is swirling in his mind. Is my consciousness not flowing like the honey-coated saliva of a bear? Am I not chasing after myself as desire feasts on the honeycomb of memory? Is the interlock not a wood of evaluations projected by my mind?

Some inviolate frame that I cannot access exists outside of this interlock but I can only catch a glimpse of it oozing its heavy sap into the frames like a glue that seems to make sense until the search for more honey brings me to the edge where a chasm of infinite regress yo-yos. The fractal portals demarcate this interlock floating on quantum foam.

And then I fall back into my honeycomb again and swirl back to a part of the interlock where I can carry on with the feast as any other good bear would.

souvenirs from an impossible trip

In Walter Benjamin’s short story, The Wall (c. 1932-34), the narrator is living in Spain when he sees a postcard of a wall that “swung through the landscape like a voice, like a hymn singing across the centuries of its duration.” As he decides to find the wall, he misunderstands its label (at first he assumes S stands for Saint but it’s actually S. for Sebastiano Vinez). He looks through old maps and considers other names that might be older names for the place. At the beginning of the story, the narrator talks about a windmill on a hill that he is saving to visit. As it turns out, an acquaintance led him to Windmill Hill where the wall from the postcard was. He had sought after what he was saving to visit in the first place.

Benjamin’s story has stuck with me over the years as I took polaroids, or instant postcards. And it was in the back of my mind at flea markets, where I’d come across old postcards from an era before my time and feel the irresistible urge to buy them. All the better if they had messages already written on the back. And so, postcard polaroids merged together in my mind. Souvenirs from an impossible trip. Like searching for the place romanticized in a postcard that is at once close and far like any photograph itself. Sending postcards from a time where I never was and polaroids of things that do not exist as shown.

Besides, even if we thought we actually caught the place visited in an image, John Prine reminds us in his song, Souvenirs, “Memories they can’t be boughten / They can’t be won at carnivals for free / Well it took me years / To get those souvenirs / And I don’t know how they slipped away from me.”

rock candy – part two

These heavy cathedrals of stone fall before me whenever I come to witness the blues melt into the golden shores and the ink spill across the molten sea. This hungry mouth tilts to swallow its treasure whole. I hear the random slap of waves below and watch these muscular cliffs tug and yank at this opulent rug. I stand where the scene slips away and know that all I could ever do was get close to what is far beyond me.