The sleep is over.

As I step back into the first state, my head is an ocean. Keywords swirl. Remembering reality. Blending daily life stories with hyperrealities. Bringing in shreds of memories of the present. This is possible only through conscious living. Is that a burden? Can I see the ladders running back and forth between what’s in my head and what’s extracted from ‘outside’? In short, in my head, as I sit up with bleary eyes, ideas are having a foetal experience, a feast of eating each other. Then I notice the little girl had pulled off her shirt before sleep and now is sleeping shivering. I pull the quilt over her, him, and the other her. Then I move to freshen up and sit in my room to type. [ My room? Lol ]

Who are my accomplices in this adventure? I don’t know. Picking up Freedom from the Known, The Holotropic Mind, Zarathustra, Twilight of the Idols, and a few other books. Are the dead to lead the living? I think the living are now being revealed more to, than the dead. Metaphysics is smarter. It’s chic. It glows. It tells you things that your head is accommodating more. Bulging eyes are becoming fewer on this planet.

So far good. Well, everything has to happen that way: in a good way, toward good. Good isn’t a quality. It is the essence of the now. Good.

Can ideas new be borrowed from books old? Why do we read the dead, while we are alive? Being in the body doesn’t make you claim to be alive. Everyone is alive. Though not necessarily those having bodies. Having a body is not significant.

Do I make a coherent reporter by dipping my feet into my daily reality and inference chat box that’s always open in my mind? How many realities can I form in my head? How many at once I can choose to experience? Are realities dealt with, with the help of body? Why’s body necessary for such experiments? I don’t think it is necessary.

“Moyers: What do we learn from our dreams?

Campbell: You learn about yourself.

Moyers: How do we pay attention to our dreams?

Campbell: All you have to do is remember your dream in the first place and write it down. Then take one little fraction of the dream, one or two images or ideas, and associate with them. Write down what comes to your mind and again what comes to your mind, and again. You’ll find that the dream is based on a body of experiences that have some kind of significance in your life and that you didn’t know were influencing you. Soon, the next dream will come along, and your interpretations with go further.”

That’s from The Power of Myth. Joseph Campbell. One read and I feel like asking the professor. Why bother with dream then? Can’t you do the same with your daily experience? He says that ‘the dream is based on a body of experiences that have some kind of significance in your life and that you didn’t know were influencing you.’ Isn’t it same with daily inferences from what you consider as reality? Pick bits and pieces from what you think you are experiencing. They are symbols of a deeper predilections and abhorrences that you think is you.

For instance: You are in a mall. You can pick pieces of an unconscious you from the trolley cart that lady is pushing off toward the counter. Look into it. Look. Do you see a toothpaste pack or a buy-one-get-three free pack there? They’re all reflections of an unconscious self you think you are. You are not that. But you believe it so. You may see this so-called identity of yours in all that.

Which is why teachers say there’s a lot to be undone. There’s is nothing to be undone. You are not even here. Then who shall you undo?

Why bother with dreams?

Isn’t your day itself, one?

IS [Inner Script]: A few days back I see her posting a photo of her pink feet, pedicured, nail-polished, placed in green flip-flops. It is supposed to be beautiful. What is beautiful about it? My past judgements about a pair of female feet kicks in. The past always overrides the present. Which is why we see nothing in the now. Everything is seen and ‘understood’ through past. Is this bad news for humanity? No. It is good news for humanity and bad for human arrogance of its certitude about its understandings. In my daily reality, this is a shred of my once-endearing foot fetish slipping in. A desire flicker. I watch my desire. The fetish has no more hold on me. I smile again. I smile and close the window.