Archive for dreams

Les Fleurs du mal

Posted in Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2017 by Mj Rains

les fleurs du mal

Posthumous Remorse

    Ah, when thou shalt slumber, my darkling love,
Beneath a black marble-made statuette,
And when thou’lt have nought for thy house or alcove,
But a cavernous den and a damp oubliette.

When the tomb-stone, oppressing thy timorous breast,
And thy hips drooping sweetly with listless decay,
The pulse and desires of mine heart shall arrest,
And thy feet from pursuing their adventurous way,

Then the grave, that dark friend of my limitless dreams
(For the grave ever readeth the poet aright),
Amid those long nights, which no slumber redeems”?

‘Twill query “What use to thee, incomplete spright
That thou ne’er hast unfathomed the tears of the dead?”
Then the worms will gnaw deep at thy body like Dread.

~The Flowers of Evil, Les Fleurs du mal, by Charles Baudelaire

(…If rape or arson, poison or the knife
Has wove no pleasing patterns in the stuff
Of this drab canvas we accept as life–
It is because we are not bold enough.
~Beaudelaire, To the Reader)

Image: Dark fleur by The Wit Continuum

 

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Dreams, quantum physics, and Theresa Duncan…

Posted in Dream Journal, parallel lives, Theresa Duncan with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 26, 2017 by Mj Rains

The other night I had a dream with Theresa Duncan in it. It was one of those dreams where I feel as if I am somewhere else, not merely in my head negotiating the roads of REM sleep, but in another place all-together, another time, a parallel life.

In the dream, we are sitting in the front row of a small darkly lit theater. Theresa sits next to me, on my right. Her hair is down, long and soft and golden blond. She looks beautiful, relaxed, and I share this feeling as well. She wears all black, her legs crossed, her foot in a black sleek heal peaks towards me. She turns to me, her trademark red lips smile, but she never says anything. I’m thinking, “Wait until the show starts, this will be fun.” I anticipate her wit and my own snark as well.

Further down the front row, a perfectly dressed little girl, maybe 4 or 5 years old, bobbed hair, black and white velvet dress, sits with her mother, who fusses over her constantly. She calls the little girl “the baby.” I’m not sure what this means, in the dream, or even post dream. The little girl ignores her mother and looks over at Theresa and me. Theresa is about to say something I feel, perhaps about the little girl, then I wake up.

Nothing really happens, yet I feel in that dream moment I had stepped into a parallel world, a parallel life, and in this life I know Theresa. This would make sense, explain why I’ve been drawn to her all these years, beyond a fan-based attraction. Could it be because I know her in a another universe? A parallel life? I ask you to suspend disbelief for just a moment and consider the quantum physics of our world.

In Space-Time and Beyond, by Bob Toben and Fred Alan Wolf, it is explained that each of us exists simultaneously in an indefinite number of universes. “Each universe has its own time sequence. Each universe may be a slight variation of the next one, or may be entirely different.”

“The ordinary ‘reality’ we perceive is not one universe. It is the harmony of phases of movements of an infinite number of universes. All things are possible but some are more probable.  There is an indefinite number of harmonies constructing an infinite number of possibilities,” and “we exist in all the universe layers simultaneously.”(I reference here the Everett thesis of parallel universes, the quantum wave that represents reality. Everett and his followers came up with the idea that life events happen and exist in a parallel universe and where the event actually occurs. You can be in both universes observing the event, or one similar. Your life may be one way here, an another, possibly different life there. But you exist in each world!)

Can we access our other world lives through dreams? Maybe, maybe not, but from consulting with some psychic healers, it is clear to me that the possibility is there, if one chooses to believe it. In my dream with Theresa nothing happens. I simply feel happiness knowing her. No one is with us that I know. It is just the two of us, out for an evening, friends, and happy. The lovely, peaceful feeling of the dream I feel when I think about her now. I woke and put pen to paper, to capture the relevance, the grandness. In this peek at this other life I do not even know what I do, what career I have or Theresa has, who we are at all. But the good feeling was there, the most important thing.

Theresa Duncan is not here in this world. Her memory lives on here in cyberspace, and in our hearts and our minds. Those that knew her, and those that had wished they had, our desires keep her alive. In other worlds she is happy, a little older, lovely as ever, sharp and witty, full of life. And I like to think I might be part of that.

Today would have been her 51st birthday. I wonder what day her birthday would be in a parallel life?
Are our birthdays the same as in this world?

May all birthdays be as joyful as my simple dream.

 

 

Roaring dreams…

Posted in Esoteric with tags , , , , , , on April 25, 2015 by Mj Rains

  

Roaring dreams take place in a perfectly silent mind.

~Jack Kerouac 

Addiction

Posted in October with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 8, 2013 by Mj Rains

Addiction

by Christopher Courtley

She stalks the shadows of my mind
And the dreams she leaves behind
Taunt me with her memory
Haunting nightmarish ecstasy.

A sickly lust, a prick of fear–
The night descends and brings her here
Naked and untouched by man
A moon-white virgin courtesan.

She is all and I am hers
Abject slave to a heart that stirs
For no one–so I nightly sit
In paradises counterfeit.

Loving her is poisoned bliss
Her kiss is death and still I kiss;
So banish sun and harsh daylight
And come sweet angel of the night–

Come upon the moonlight’s streaming
Come and light my darkest dreaming
Come and fill my veins with pleasure–
All I want, and all I treasure.

From Thirteen Black Roses: Gothic Romantic Poetry
by Christopher Courtley

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A dream is a little hidden door…

Posted in The Deep with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 16, 2013 by Mj Rains

battle of the light“The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night…”

“…in dreams we put on the likeness of that more universal, truer, more eternal man dwelling in the darkness of primordial night.”

In_Dream_by_Virus69“The dream is often occupied with apparently very silly details, thus producing an impression of absurdity, or else it is on the surface so unintelligible as to leave us thoroughly bewildered.”

“Dreams are impartial, spontaneous products of the unconscious psyche, outside the control of the will.”

_heart_s_chakra__by_janek_sedlar-d5rlc4y“One would do well to treat every dream as though it were a totally unknown object. Look at it from all sides, take it in your hand, carry it about with you, let you imagination play round it, and talk about it with other people.”

Dream words source: Psychological Reflections, C.G. Jung

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