Vivid dreams
Frightful nightmares
Tell me, which is more dangerous?

As dreams tend to flow, this is disjointed and the sequence mended to appease the waking mind. Meaning is often only available to the dreamer as it is folded into the emotions evoked, as the dreamer stitches the scenes back together in the dream journal. The characters in the dreams are often representations of those we hold dear. Sometimes multiple people can be rolled into one. Strangers appear like variables in a math equation. Just filling in for continuity’s sake. Here is my excerpt from today's dream journal.

We stood in the kitchen in deep embrace, sans clothes, lips tenderly exploring. The light was so bright. details of the surroundings were blinding. My focus was on you. The connection was as one. My heart was full.

Ripped away, I was standing on a sidewalk, in front of your house on a hot summer's day. I was with, what I figured out later, was your mother. She was frustrated but I didn't know why. I was still feeling great, blind to the unfolding drama.

In the distance I could start to make out a metallic blue, 1965 Mustang Convertible. You pulled up, happy as always. I did notice that the back seat was full of 1960's type TV dinners. The colors of the boxes popped against the white interior. You were exchanging heated words with your mother. I just stood there thinking that I'll have to console you later. We didn't speak which I thought was strange.

Just then a wood-paneled station wagon pulled up. The family car that littered the streets of my youth. A tall slender balding guy opened the driver's door as I watched you run over to jump into his arms. I was gut punched watching you. Thinking you must be thinking he was me. Then as fast as it started, it ended. I woke up empty.

The void of a lost mountain built on love is as deep as the mountain high.

When thoughts begin to dream,
they branch into an endless tree—
roots spreading through realities,
each shoot carving its path,
its own line.

Breathe.

Another fold,
another layer of truth
expands as we choose.
Up and down at once—
direction becomes perception.

Grows.

Thoughts of prey circle
in the shape of the serpent god—
Beginning is the end—
deception of decision.

Divine.

--  In silence  --
The dream reel unwinds its thread.
---
And the heart,
like a  l  o  o  m,
slowly weaves the thread.
---
The dreamer tried to reach for that thread,
but
          F
                 E
                        L
                                L
                                                                      And never found her way
                           back to
H   O   P   E


                                                                                            ---Michael Slade