Between Fantasy and Dreams


“The best way to show people true things is from a direction that they had not imagined the truth coming.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

“It’s a rare gift, to know where you need to be, before you’ve been to all the places you don’t need to be.”  ~  Ursula K. Le Guin

“The stuff you bring back from dreams is free.”  ~  Neil Gaiman

Whatever I was dreaming just before I awoke this morning was truncated by the cat. Or at least I lost track of the storyline and was left with only the feelings involved. Or some of them anyway. Who knows, right? There was a definite feeling of excitement, and of struggle. But I was pretty much obliged to give my attention to the meowing cat, who was only about 18 inches from my face, and she would reach out on occasion to pat my shoulder, then drawing back each time, acting like nothing important had happened. She was right about that. The only thing of real importance I could have done was to get out of bed and supply her with her 2 AM snack. I did get out of bed, groaning all the way, but I decided to refuse her the snack for a few minutes. It was the least I could do, besides vocally calling her an asshole, thus starting the day off on the wrong foot. Never a good idea. The wrong foot thingy is for my benefit, not hers. Starting the day by amping up my incessant anxiety would be just plain stupid. Anxiety is an interesting process, and a process it is. Mine – ummmm, yes, I like totally own it dude, which is better than blaming it on somebody else. Mine, as I was saying, is strongly guided by PTSD, which in turn is strongly, at times, guided by paranoia. To override paranoia, I am just coming to find out, it is often clever to head it off at the pass preemptively by substituting fantasies for the dark fears that the process delivers on a regular basis. Fears need not be vanquished, me hearties; it is best to just walk right on through them as if they were phantoms. And phantoms they are, in some ways, but these nano-nightmares have very real power over both the Central Nervous System and the imagination. Long ago I commandeered my monkey mind by retraining it to become a narrator of sorts, giving it something to do that was not so uncomfortably close to blathering. I not saying I am enlightened or anything, but I suspect that we are all enlightened already. Just watch. Creating an observer stance is a way of expanding awareness, a way of entering the “compared to what” continuum. The “compared to what” continuum operates much like the chicken/egg continuum, through introducing nonsense to the equation that is in essence a piss poor excuse for an equation. The Cartesian model of human existence, wherein we are machine-like in nature, totally separated from Spirit, went the way of the Dodo oh so long ago. As far I know we are now seen as quantum processes entrained by fields of coherent information, and we are inherently informed by consciousness, not the creators of consciousness, as we have long been told. Of course, doubt can really muck up the works by relegating participation to the WTF continuum, wherein fantasy is used in and for simple obfuscation. I hate it when that happens. What got me off into this musing on fantasia and stuff is that romantic fantasy I have mention here recently. Like just how do I know that it is a fantasy, and not a real gift from the Universe? Here we would begin to enter the realm of destiny and soulmate speculation, but what is the real essence of the so called fantasy is the feelings. Like the feelings that emerged from my dream this morning, in spite of the cat’s attempt to make me be practical and of use. The difference between fantasy and dreams is that dreams can come true. Fantasy, not so much. And so it is that I begin prepping for a visit to my day job. It has brought me great joy to speculate on this stuff this morning. As I like to say: better speculate than never. Doh!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


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