the illustrated book...

dreams

are illustrations

from the book

your soul is writing

about you

the creations...

Our dreams are firsthand creations,

rather than residues of waking life.

the lover's dream...

 

do i love you

because you're beautiful

or are you beautiful

because i love you?

am i making believe

i see in you

a woman too perfect

to be really true?

do i want you

because you're wonderful

or are you wonderful

because i want you?

are you the sweet invention

of a lover's dream

or are you really as

beautiful as you seem?

the dreams of cinema...

“Talking about dreams
is like talking about movies,
since the cinema uses
the language of dreams;
years can pass in a second
and you can hop
from one place to another.
It’s a language made of image.
And in the real cinema,
every object and
every light means something,
as in a dream.”

the bird...

Hold

fast

to

dreams, 

for

if 

dreams

die, 

life

is a 

broken

winged

bird 

that

cannot

fly.

the boundary...

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide

our

being...

echo...

Come to me in the silence of the night;

Come in the sparkling silence of a dream;

Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright

As sunlight on a stream;

Come back in tears,

O memory, hope, love of finished years.

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,

Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,

Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;

Where thirsting longing eyes

Watch the slow door

That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live

My very life again though cold in death:

Come back to me in dreams, that I may give

Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:

Speak low, lean low,

As long ago, my love, how long ago.

the identity...

there is a moment upon just 

waking up from a dream 

when you experience 

a startling shift in perspective; 

in that moment you realize that 

the life you were most recently leading - 

the life in your dream - 

was merely a product of your imagination - 

in this transition period your return 

to the waking world often seems 

like the termination of an illusion...

awakening from a lucid dream 

can be just as startling...

because the conscious realization

that you are dreaming does not 

dilute the power of your 

dream identity at all.

the awakening...

She entered the story knowing 

she would emerge from it 

feeling she had been 

immersed in the lives of others, 

in plots that stretched back twenty years, 

her body full of sentences and moments, 

as if awakening from sleep 

with a heaviness caused by 

unremembered dreams.

the illusion...

What is life? 

A madness. 

What is life? 

An illusion, 

a shadow, 

a story. 

And the 

greatest good 

is little enough; 

for all 

life is a dream, 

and dreams themselves 

are only dreams.

of webs and walls...

talking

talking

spinning 

a web of words, 

pale walls of dreams, 

between myself

and 

all

i

see

this bag of dreams...

Take, 

if you must, 

this little bag of dreams, 

Unloose the cord, 

and 

they will wrap you round.

golden slumbers - what could be more beautiful! enjoy!

life is a sleep...

Our revels now are ended. 

These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, 

the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, 

the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. 

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; 

and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

dreams of the sea...

i came here

to tell of the bells

that live in the sea

that dream of the sea

within the sea

thus

i live here

the answers...

dreams are 

today's answers

to tomorrow's questions -

my home waits...in dreams...

What 

I want to do 

is travel 

deep and deeper 

into the dreamlands, 

to find that place 

that I know 

is waiting

for me here. 

My home.

true dreams live...

Dreams

are true 

while they last 
and

do we not 

live

in 

dreams?

a dream deferred...

What happens to a  

dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun.....
......Or does it

explode?

Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet LXXXl:

“And now you’re mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,
we will go together, over the waters of time.
 

No one else will travel through the shadows with me,
only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

Your hands have already opened their delicate fists
and let their soft drifting signs drop away;
your eyes closed like two gray wings, and I move

after, following the folding water you carry, that carries
me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.”

the secret spot...

"Within 

your heart, 

keep one still, 

secret spot 

where 

dreams 

may go."

lie in blackness...

Channels 

are blocked in the mind, 

from the day.  

Lie down 

in blackness of night,

forgotten remnants 

rush to the mind, 

or 

creeping slowly 

appear 

in the

dreams.

the divided world...

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams--
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

dark dreams from poe...

Deep into that darkness peering, 

long I stood there, 

wondering, 

fearing, 

doubting, 

dreaming dreams 

no mortal 

ever dared 

to dream 

before.

poppy field dream...

Once in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.