Primarily a writing exercise, this dream journal-inspired blog is a quiet introspective sojourn into the process that we traverse in going from private dream to public art. I see our dreaming as an internalized mythmaking. As I philosophize and expressively exhibit dreams, both private and public, I encourage and delight in creative language as a way to practice experiential metaphors through a “public dreaming." Writing Theory: Creative Dream Fiction

Monday, 2 April 2012

Unearned Happiness from the Dream City of the East

Beginning of Film

"Verily, the works of those gone before us have become instances and examples to men of our modern day, that folk may view what admonishing chances befel other folk and may therefrom take warning.
Introduction to the Arabian Nights"  

"A street in Baghdad, dream city of the ancient East -" 

“Toil – for by toil the sweets of human life are found.”
“Thou liest! What I want – I take. My reward is here. Paradise is a fool’s dream and Allah is a myth.”
End of Film
starlight forms a message as the thief and his love fly through on a magic carpet 
“Happiness must be earned”

My face brims with a Cheshire grin as I watch myself practicing lively positions from the Kama Sutra. Hovering above, and fading in and out of my view in my space of “practice” His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada appears smiling with equal grace directly into my eyes as I lay down under my “dakini consort” if you will. He says to me without speaking, “Enlightenment is in a smile.” As if never there, he fades from my vision and my “practice” vanishes with equal mystery.

Standing up in the opaque darkness of my surroundings, I open a door to a small theatre. My wife accompanies me, wrapped around my arm. We are attending a slew of Spoken Word performances. The first performance portrays a sterling might and inventive will unlike anything we have seen pass through the English language outside of song. The subsequent acts are less impressive however we enjoy the entire show.

Walking from the theatre venue, the road reflects the night sky as flood lights bedeck our footsteps along the thin, snow-laden sidewalk. We continue on without a glace forward, watching our feeble footsteps upon the icy pavement. Without heed, we enter a rundown apartment duplex in our small, industrial city.

As we walk in, we find there are a number of past friends and friends of friends sitting on couches and occupying the entirety of the now tense indoor space. The silence is masked with intensive body language, mostly through the eyes. Our compatriots are from Colombia. I ask them about their experiences in Colombia. Two popular African-American entertainers, sit comfortably upon the upholstery and creaking wooden chairs. Lauryn Hill begins an eloquent diatribe about the situation of the people in the room, connecting the struggles of each and every one present to us all.   


”If there is anything
less humane
than global urban centers,
it is their suburbs,
for they render
human society

- Calgary Winter 09’

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