Dream Stream

Continued from the previous post…

So here I was, again, before my big friend. “What may I call you?” I asked. I wanted to be polite and respectful, so a title or name would be proper.

“You may call me Ka’rog. That is the closest you could call me because I really don’t have a name. I have a vibration.”

This was quite odd to me as everything in TV world had a name, especially if it could hold a conversation. I glanced at Ka’rog expecting a lecture of some sort, although I had never been taught by a Sasquatch before.

“Today you need to explore the Dream Stream,” he spoke with authority. We were going to focus on observation of all in the woods, but this is more pressing.

I gave him a puzzled look.

“Every dream, every thought, every action, every experience from any world or realm or dimension is contained in the Dream Stream. Musicians, inventors, and writers all tap into the Dream Stream for inspiration.” And then with a questioning face, he said, “Did you think that all the fantastic stories of adventures and drama were just pulled from someone’s imagination?”

I didn’t know where they came from. I thought the individual was just being clever to think up entire worlds of fantasy and adventures.

“They are tapping into everything that is, in any time, in any dream, in any imagination from any perspective and bringing it forth. Dreams can be nightmares, with monsters and chase scenes. Dreams can be loving and gentle. If you can imagine it, it exits someplace, somewhere, in some form.”

“How do I do this then?” I asked as I loved to daydream and this sounded like a new adventure to me.

“You already are, dear one. You just don’t know it yet. Since you began writing what came into your head, you have been tapping into the Dream Stream.”

“What about when people die? Do their dreams just fade away?”

“They can. But more likely, their dream are just part of the Dream Stream, for someone else to pick up and run with. Think about how you can have multiple people coming up with the same invention at the same time. They all were tapping into the Dream Stream. And even if someone dies, as you put it, their thoughts and dreams remained in the Dream Stream for others to pick up and read. Nothing is lost.”

I wondered how it was that fantastic ideas sometimes popped into my head, or how I got inspired to just hum a little tune to myself or even write this blog. It never occurred to me that I was tapping into something universal, something far beyond the reaches of my imagination that many many others can also tap into whenever they dream, asleep or awake.

“You have been chosen to tap into the Dream Stream and write,” Ka’rog began. “This dream you are in is going to take a slightly different direction. Instead of writing about yourself and your dream here, you need to begin writing from the perspective of the Dream Stream itself. Some may call it writing from the narrator perspective, or third person. You are to write the story that unfolds as you see it.”

I felt a weight on my chest. “Write?” I asked. I am one who spends a lot of time dreaming and thinking, and put a few notes down on paper here or there. But write, as in write a novel? “Where do I begin?”

Ka’rog looked at me then found a big flat rock that sat only a few inches above the ground. He sat down, crossed his legs and instructed me to copy him. He had me close my eyes, breathe in and out deeply, and wait.

I did as he instructed. At first, all I saw was the inside of my eyelids, imagining the blood vessels, skin, and eyelashes. Then, it faded to a kind of silvery gray.

“Now hold the intention to tap into the Dream Stream,” I heard Ka’rog say in my mind. Intention is everything. Imagine you are there, in the place where dreams are formed and held.”

I then felt I was on a highway of color, or maybe it was wide ribbons of color or thread. The threads moved in many different directions, weaving and crossing other threads, sometimes braiding with one then going off in another direction, disappearing in a thick weave again elsewhere. This weaving wasn’t flat, though, like an endless rug that was woven on a planet size loom. No, this weaving seemed to have multiple directions, and was much more than the X, Y, Z axis of a three dimensional object, as each of the threads had a shadow of many other similar threads. I was looking at a tesseract, a multi-dimensional shape that continuously changed.

Each thread was an individual soul, which crossed paths with others. The shadows were possibilities of where the soul thread could go. Where there were small choices, like which outfit to put on for the day or what to eat for breakfast, the threads were very close together. But where there were choices such as moving to a new city, getting married, or choosing one career over another, the threads suddenly took wide divergent routes.

As far as I could see, there was no beginning or end to the Dream Stream. It just was, in every direction. I touched a string in my mind randomly and I then saw what looked like a knight fighting in a battle, holding a sword and shield and fighting another. I touched another string some distance away, and I saw someone sitting in the shade next to a river with a fishing pole. I touched another and then saw someone eating a slice of pumpkin pie. Each of these were memories from someone, somewhere. Each of these is part of a story.

I then plunged my whole arm in and touched dozens of strings. My head immediately began to spin. I was seeing many many different adventures in a jumble, like trying to listen to the radio but getting the overlap of all the different stations bleeding through. Or, in a visual example, seeing tiny snippets of each dream going so quickly that each was visible for only a fraction of a second before a completely different dream appeared. So many stories. So many people. It didn’t matter if they were from TV World called the past or future. It didn’t matter being from a perspective outside of the Dream Stream. There was no past or future. Everything just was.

I pulled my arm out and sat. My head still swirled. I became overwhelmed with where to go, what to write about. There were so many stories, so many unique adventures. I opened my eyes and asked, “Where do I begin?”

Ka’rog looked at me with a gentle expression. “Just write. Start to write and it will come together. Trust yourself.”

My mouth felt parched and I felt my heart flutter. This all was exciting yet I had never written something as daring as a novel before. I eyed the river in front of me. I walked over and plunged in. I was in a dream, after all, so anything was possible.

And so the story continues with a new sense of direction…

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