meditation

I saw a hall, it was hidden from sunlight but lit brightly, mysteriously.  It echoed with my footsteps, shaped stones.  There was art everywhere on the stone slabs making the walls and columns, and the vertical pieces making up the stair steps.  The art was delicate and ancient, yet bold and courageous.  The etches were deep and confident, they had feeling, like they weren't made with wrists and fingertips, but strong arms and forceful blows.  The air was chilly but I felt heat in admiring the work, the forges blazing and energy burning, with embers lifted by rising heat into the seemingly endless black ceiling.  There were deer, and bears, and big cats, and trees.  There were flowing rivers on the steps, a centerpiece of life spewing carved water, with fish and dragonflies frozen in stone.  On top of the pyramid of steps was a throne, carved from the same stone, everything looked a dull grey-blue granite. There was no marble, no gold, no silver, no paint, no precious stones, yet it was alive.  It was hard, harsh, I didn't sit on the throne, it felt like an insult to, but I kneeled to one side, leaning an arm over the throne's arm, and sighed.  I felt tired of everything I was seeing, even my feet hurt from the hard cold stone, it numbed and stole my body heat through my Chuck T's.  I wasn't seeing with my eyes, all I saw was grey-blue anyway, but I was feeling, and in feeling my body, I only felt bones, weary and stricken bones.  Then hunger, I wanted food, sooooo bad.  So, I got up and took a shower and bought shit at Safeway to make slammin' honey salmon and a bottle of pinot noir. I kicked my ass this workout.

the king of shifting Ground

I was intrigued by a book, it made me laugh so hard, Mark Twain's "The adventures of Huckleberry Finn".  Of course, dialect, but the hardest to understand was .... no spoiling.  Seemingly the dumbest character, but I dreamed I met him, and he spoke a line from the book, which spawned an amazing seed of dream of stupid shit I ever experienced in a dream.  The line, spoken to me while sitting on the shores of the Mississippi, no one cares where I'm sure, go like this.  "I hai'nt neva herd of no kang solermon, onliess kangs I eva herds uv were dem fower on de backs uv playrr cyards..."  I knew I was dreaming, if you ever wanted to meet a celebrity, a Johnny Depp, a Nikki Minaj, a Justin Beiber, an Olivia Munn, a Tom Hardy... and would lose your shit seeing them, I would lose mine to have a conversation with Jim (and Olivia Munn).  My dream, nothing to do with any novel of western literacy.  I heard Jims' words, and pondered love, pondered a suit of "cyards", four kings and four queens.  That's as symbolic as anyone can think, I don't give a fuck.  I felt I'm a King, whichever, it doesn't matter, and I have a Queen.  I take a wine glass, and gold rings on weathered hands "klink" against it.  I take a sword, and nations kneel without bloodshed.  I take a horse, and the world gallops to my feet.  I take my Queens hand, in insatiable desire, and collect the heads of those who look her way.  Inside, that's how it feels.  Outside, it's cold.  The river is mighty and forceful before me, I lay in the night at its shores, barefoot and hungry.  A fishing rod cast in the water, waiting for my catch, waiting to eat, waiting for the ground I call my own to fail, waiting for the next time to run, with an insatiable grin, waiting for the Sun to stab out all the stars. 

google searching Exorcism

I must be angry, I must have something misplaced in my spirit, a lot of what I write in my dream journal is full of aggressive symbols, lately.  Knowing is half the battle, at least I know now, because I don't feel angry.  I dreamed about bad things, about witches and a demon.  I remember when I was a child, I seen a demon, not like a scary apparition, but I seen a man who every other older man surrounded him and said he was under the influence of one.  It was scary, I cried, I was so small.  I was torn away from the site, I loved that man.  In my dream, I saw him again.  I am stronger though, and I wanted to help.  He said there are witches, and said to look in the laundry room.  I did, and found the dryer and bed were alive.  This probably sounds nuts, but fuck it.  I didn't now what exactly to do, so I whipped out my cellphone and google searched "expelling witches from furniture".... and google answer said I need a fresh dead crow.  So, I go to a pavilion outside where there are crows and pigeons, and people staring at me in bewildered amazement at my open act of trying to kill one crow.  They were freaked out of me, calling the police.  I didn't care, and tried to the last second to catch one before I had to run from the authorities.  I got away, and was found by a woman.  She said I can hide here, then said after a time she can help me with the witches.  I said thank you, and led her to the laundry room.  She took my cellphone, saying when I see a witch, to call the number she puts in my address book, either "dryer" or "bed", and then she left.  I felt shame about relentlessly trying to massacre crows in front of people earlier, and waited.  When the dryer and bed came alive again, I whipped out my cellphone to call the numbers, and found my contact list was displayed in symbols I didn't recognize, "oh shit!" moment, I felt confounded in fuckery.  That's all I remember.

coyotes

I dreamed I was annoyed, severely annoyed, terminally annoyed.  I had a plugged nose, like one side, I made gross noises between breathlessness.  I wanted it out, I plugged one side and blew as hard as I could, and found blood poured out and down my throat, it couldn't drain through my plugged nose.  Now, I hate bloody noses, they freak me out, this is becoming a nightmare.  For some reason, I felt moody, like sexually.  I wanted her, she is here but also a lot of people are in my apartment, annoying.  I felt miserable.  Suddenly there was an accident outside, a loud popping crunch sound.  I looked and a car had wrecked, it also had broken eggs all over it, with shells stained in color like Easter eggs.  Someone in the crowd that had all come out to investigate said it was poison, like a biological attack.  The eggs contained a lingering poison, and breathing it would kill you.  It was scary, I cupped my mouth and went upwind from the wreck.  Everyone screamed and ran, and I felt an urgent panic.  Then came calm, then confidence, I was walking with a group of people, evading the terrorist egging's.  There was mass panic yet I was leading this group of people to safety.  There was a boy, he said "I bet I can get to the top of that hill before you!", and I playfully obliged, I knew the attacks didn't reach there, and that was the safe area I was leading everyone to.  When I started a sprint, I realized the boy had sneakily filled my socks with Legos, making it painful to run.  WTF!?! How... I emptied them into the dirt, and he came back sad, asking why I threw all his toys away.  Like really kid?!? I told him to pick them up and I will carry them in my socks, and when the race commenced again, I didn't put my socks on just ran in my shoes without socks.  He laughed even as I left him so far behind, nearing the top of the hill.  As I was about to crest it and win the race, feeling lighthearted despite events, over the top of the hill a pair of coyotes leaped over at me.  I ducked, yet one landed on my head, bounding back off with sharp little pawed feet insulting my face.  It hurt, like WTF was that!? How rude, I closed my eyes, wincing in pain.  That's all I remember.

mossberg and Butterflies

I dreamed I was locked inside a conex box, or a few conex boxes welded together to make a sizable room.  There was a window, but it was fogged and only let a glowing ray of sunlight through.  I walked to it, my footsteps echoed loudly and stirred up fine dust.  Dust billowed up, seen only in the ray of light from the single window, I felt boogies and a sneeze coming.  Next to the window, stood barrel up between the ribs of the conex box, was my shotgun.  I picked it up, a Mossberg 500, and checked the chamber and magazine.  One shell, I figured my best bet was to shoot out the almost opaque window, use the butt to break any remaining shards out of the way and squeeze through.  The shot rang in the metal box like a bell, I fell to my knees in shock from the blast, holding my ears in pain.  When the shock subsided, I saw the window didn't shatter, but left tiny holes where the buckshot passed through (tryptophobia, ick!). I went to press my face against the window and see if I could see through a single hole, then fluttery shadows appeared on the other side.  Through the holes, butterflies squeezed through, their wings collapsing and "poofing" back out when they got through, and all of them fluttered about, stirring up the dust in the conex box,  I tried to wipe it off my brow but it felt sticky, and I realized the dust was fine pollen.  That's all I remember.

the Swords

I first remember how I felt, I felt excited, geeked out on ancient discovery, on exploration, I love ruins.  I went to find them, a familiar place I have been to a lot, hiking and camping, rocks and juniper, and big cat prints.  Fresh scat, oooo-scary, should have packed my 9mm.  I found a well, sort of.  Near sandstone stacked for ancient people to hide behind, a circular stack of similar rock, and as dry as it was out here, the inner walls of this circle were damp.  I got in, and slid down accidently.  I was glad I had my molle backpack to take the scraping all the way down as I tried to wedge myself to a stop with my boots and back.  It didn't happen, the bricks were slippery, then the shaft opened into darkness suddenly.  My heart fluttered and the adrenalin flushed my face of life it felt.  I reached below me like a cat jumping off a roof, and splashed into water.  I was in shock, and paddled best I could up, I hate water.  When I surfaced and took a breath, there was light, dim but inherent.  There was an edge of the water I could climb up, onto a stone path with stone walls and a stone ceiling, all dark and damp, with moss growing between the bricks, all man-made.  It didn't smell like a sewer, it smelled like a cave, natural.  The water was clean, yet I found I had bled into it.  Somehow I received two gaping gashes on my left thigh, and I opened my pack to fashion a bandage.  I used my headband and all the contents of a tiny medikit I had.  It hurt, I couldn't walk. I looked up the shaft I fell through, it was dark.  I used a flashlight, and remember thinking "I'm so glad I bought this because it doesn't use batteries", my worst fear is getting lost in a cave.  The expanse echoed as I cranked the lever on my flashlight to get it charged up.  As I directed the light into the shaft, there were two shiny objects partway up, stuck in the walls.  I took out my monoculars, and in the dream everything seemed to get bigger, the stone path became cavernous and the shaft became a monolithic feature.  I used my monoculars to get a look at the reflective objects, and found they were two swords, handles stuck between the bricks, blades readied to slice anything that fell through, like a leg.  If dreams reflect inner struggle, I must be doing something wrong.  My mind wasn't set on my wounds, on a path out, even on fear of dark waters or starvation or loneliness.  I wanted those swords, as if my world became nothing but dark waters and slippery bricks, nothing to strive for except those pieces of treasure or death, and I begun obsessively thinking about how to get them.  That's all I remember.