To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

To dream is to frolic and play in the mind of God. If we pay attention to the messages that is being delivered to us, we can have conversations with God. Since God and the soul are one and the same, if we can comprehend the messages coming from our soul, we can apophysize.

Part of the process of comprehending the soul is paying close attention to what it has to say to us. There are many ways to document a person’s dreams, and this is my way. I am not saying this is the best way. I am simply saying that it works for me. If you see any value in my method, by all means, take what you can of it.

I cannot write very fast with a pen. As a matter of course, I write very slowly if I truly want to be understood because nobody can read the fast version of my handwriting. The big problem is, I think very fast, and if I cannot record my thoughts at the speed at which it blazes from my brain, I lose my train of thoughts as my hand tries desperately to keep up the brutal pace.

I realized long, long ago that the only way to transcribe my thoughts accurately and quickly was to type them into a text editor since I type almost as fast as I think. This is the only method of writing for me now, as I get so frustrated with writing via the slow method.

Upon awakening from a deep sleep, it is all I can do just to cling onto the shreds and wisps of my quickly-dissipating dream. As I am trying to retain the images, sounds, and scents, I reach for my tiny netbook. It is small and is placed at my bedside. At a slight touch, it awakens and pops up a text editor so that I may start typing out my visions before they completely disappear. The beauty of typing out my dreams on a net book is that I don’t have to fumble with the bedside table lamp switch because the net book is back-lit if I need to see what I am doing. Truth is, I don’t even open my eyes to type. At this stage of the documentation process, I am trying to remember my dreams, and keeping my eyes closed helps me to retain the images.

It’s a good thing I can type blind.

I don’t think about the meanings of what I see. I describe them exactly as if I am a casual observer, unaffected by what is going on around me. I note the colors, the lighting conditions, temperature, noise (or lack thereof), and I note any odd, shifting visuals. If an object I come across suddenly morphs into another object, I write that down. I don’t bother to analyze it. That part comes later.

If the scenes shift, I document that as well. Sometimes, it is a very long and involved dream, taking place in one location only, and at other times, the dream is a chain sequence of shorter episodes in wildly different environments that seem unrelated to each other, disjointed, and lacking in any obvious connection.

Quite often, the cast of characters shift and meld into each other, blending and simulate people I have known in my past, as well as people I am suppose to know but have never seen before in this life time.
Sometimes, I am myself, the person I have known for all these decades as me. Sometimes, I am another, quite different from my own incarnated form, even of the opposite sex and with an age difference that would be completely out of my realm of experience.

I write all this down in plain descriptive short sentences and even partial sentences, without prejudice and without analysis. The object is not to have beautiful flowing prose. The goal is to solidify the visuals
before they have the chance to dissipate and is lost to my awakened and conscious mind. The analysis process is to be part of a much later activity, once I have done as much gathering of material as possible so as to have enough data points to begin to simulate a picture of what my right brain is trying to tell me.

When I have the necessary time to return to my snippets of dream records, I then take the pieces and rewrite them into an easier to read prose. In the process of writing the prose, an interesting thing happens. Since I am combining both the right and the left parts of my brain, connections
are made where there was none, and a fuller, clearer picture emerges from the parts and pieces.

I interpret the dreams myself. I do not bother with the dream dictionaries that are floating around on the internet and in print form. There is nothing obvious that they can tell me, which I cannot see for
myself, and quite often, they even obfuscate and distort meanings because they try to slot powerful ideas and images into convenient slots that have nothing to do with an individual’s experiences of them. Trust me. We all have the ability to decipher for ourselves, what our own soul is trying to tell us. I certainly do not need a dictionary to talk to myself.

Given enough time, all the pictures, like pieces of a puzzle to a huge and colorful jigsaw image, starts to form. Stand back far enough, and with enough of the pieces, I begin to see what my soul has been trying to tell me for as long as I have been alive. With the ageless knowledge of the soul comes the awakening power of a deity, barely starting to grasp and understand the depth and breadth of her abilities.

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