Dream and Love: All Our Relations

From Ben Okri's Mental Fight in London by Alessandro Lucia

“Only those who truly love and who are truly strong can sustain their lives as a dream. You dwell in your own enchantment. Life throws stones at you, but your love and your dream change those stones into the flowers of discovery. Even if you lose, or are defeated by things, your triumph will always be exemplary. And if no one knows it, then there are places that do. People like you enrich the dreams of the worlds, and it is dreams that create history. People like you are unknowing transformers of things, protected by your own fairy-tale, by love.” - Ben Okri

I found the above quote on THE DREAMING of shamanic drummer and creative writer, Lindsay Dobbin. It is such statements from the most brilliantly expressive minds of our time that draw one in to reflect on the substance of one's own nature. This is the creative spark. Ben Okri is so intuitively accurate in feeling out the subtle vibrations of the human heart that I feel as if he has literally been watching me. The relationship between love and dream is the strongest seed of self-knowledge. Those who forget their dreams are not awake to love. 

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The sky is open. Light blue, and an atmospheric glow, passes through my eyes with serene pleasure. Delicate moisture fills me with a cool air. I exhale all the grandeur of my inspiration, each breath an offering to the immeasurable beauty above. Sky is a translucent goddess.  

The Eve of the Deluge by John Martin

As I gaze forward, I see Christ standing atop the water. From afar, his face still affixes to my eyeballs with the cosmic presence of mystic flesh. I am reminded of Alex Grey's Christ painting. Then, in a moment's whisper, a pair of Bison crash through the water. I see the lake is barely a foot deep. The age old prophet is lost to my sight. The Buffalo steam through the water, carrying themselves with the charm of a sibling rivalry. The sacred flesh of the plains opens a revelation of the land's own history. 

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"…the apparent flood of a bleeding anorexic paradise…drowned in the furtive beckoning towards malformed reasoning…my Anglo-eyed drug…rushing forth into the magi of atheistic awe…the lawless prism of deep endless failure…gone astray in the fatalist’s catastrophic underpinnings…during midnight conversation…"

excerpt from Epistrophic Misdirection

Concave Jungle and the Murder of Christ

A Thicket of Deer at the Stream of Plaisir-Fontaine

I have a body running through pure jungle, a light body, toned and fair, the jungle is thick, bright and full of movement, shadows begin to appear, the jungle thickness becomes bent over to obscure holes and open spaces leading not to light but to darkness, the structure of the environment becomes more and more concave, threateningly stern with an almost mechanistic tinge, I can not see myself nor any movement and the first shaft of metal appears replacing the sunlit openings with industry, next I am driving a convertible down route 6 in Massachusetts, USA, I am instead a thin blonde lady, I get to the Quaker church across from the motel and enter, the silvery gray light fills the antique wooden house of worship, there is a sculpture of the wounded Jesus lying on a table, I murder him, stabbing into his wound, and get away, the police are out looking for who murdered the man, especially the reverend, however no one can find me, except my own self

Sun, May 8, 2011