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journeys through the land of dreams - Echoes of Flavio's Ghost Dreaming
flavius_m
flavius_m
journeys through the land of dreams
Lull myself to sleep with Ted talks on astrophysics or consciousness, at very low volume so I cannot make out alll they're actually saying (which would otherwise be interesting and therefore not conducive to falling asleep. Float downstream still not quite half asleep, thinking that for all the outer space stories my laptop may be telling, of black hoes circling around each other until they crash, or of the intricately complex workings of the constituent parts of our transient brains, my dreams are most often predictable and rather pedestrian and only those abstract images that form in my mind as I'm falling asleep would seem to evoke anything of what I'm not quite any longer listening to. Will probably wake up a couple of times in the night; at some point I'll sort of half-wake up, turn around, put down the lid of the laptop, check the time. Only one hour and a half's sleep. Four and a half hours before I get up. Is that enough sleep? Of course not. But if you think too much about it you'll get even less sleep.

Dreams seldom stray from a dozen or so themes with variations. They often involve a journey that doesn't go quite as planned, through strange places that I've been to before but have changed and don't quite function as expected. The journey back from those places often takes the rest of the night and several different dreams, in which most often I lose or have lost something important, often my guitar which has been left behind. Other dreams, as I have mentioned before (and put in a blog where I keep account of some of those dreams) involve my old house in West Caracas, crumbling down as it always was, often much worse, with leaks and fallen brickwork and broken toilets but also with new rooms and occupants -and that enormous yellow moon coming out from behind the Avila mountains. I'm often back there to live but not of my own volition; some circumstance has brought me back and I cannot leave. Very often the house has been sold and I'm given a room that I will pay a rent for, a bare room with little of the things central to my life then or now.

How those dreams may come about and what meaning they may have in my mind is perhaps clear enough but... I don't like to analyse them too much. I prefer to see them as vistas into misty, half-unknown worlds inside my head, or perhaps sometimes glimpses of parallel lives that I could have lived but didn't. They're part of my story but I don't like to take them apart -it feels as though they might unravel and disappear, taking with them an important part of that story.

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