Dreaming of Cameras

Had a dream about you last night. You were traveling and I already knew you traveled a lot, but in my dream, I realized you were never traveling towards me, but always away from me.

Interesting how dreams clearly explain things you may feel, but are distracted, because your focus is multifunctional, filled with real problems that must be solved. And this compromises your ability to access a deeper path to yourself, where everything you need to understand is there, because that’s where your soul is. And your soul never lies.

So when you dream, you are equipped with a camera that is precise and focused. It never misses a detail, because that camera is perfect and fully operational and never stops working.

It’s a perfect camera, beyond our comprehension and skill. And we will never be able to replicate it. It’s code is impenetrable, and sealed behind an invisible door. But it still sends information from a network of its own, built to protect it from those whose intentions are not pure.

That’s why I love cameras.
That’s why I love to dream.

The Spaceship In My Backyard

Oh, what I can learn. A seminar on meditation last night brought dreams of expeditions. In my father’s backyard an immense spaceship stood there, while people busily moved about, conversed, sat and relaxed with one another. I was part of it because it took place in my backyard, but aside from having a strange man for a neighbor, who always gave me a broad smile (which didn’t please his wife, naturally, but over which he had no control) and who had tried, one way or another, once traveling through a tunnel, to reach me, and my children and another little, dark child, a boy, whom I watched but not very carefully, I hadn’t a clue as to what was going on. The vehicle dominated the scene, I couldn’t – I was awed by its size, and I wanted to go wherever it was going. In the crowd, I spotted Carl Sagan, sitting in a chair next to Mr. Einstein. Indeed the crowd was filled with scientists.
I went into the house briefly – to get something – and when I came out, the yard was almost empty. The spaceship had gone and so had those who bustled about. Mr. Einstein, however, stayed behind, still sitting in the chair. Again, I was awed, bewildered. I approached him and he was extremely friendly – He said he would stay and keep me company. How sweet, I thought. How lucky for me. Then he added: “I will stay for five days with you.” Five days? “But, Mr. Einstein, one night would have been more than enough.”
Mr. Einstein, it turns out, knew the man with the broad smile, but he was very rude to him, dismissing him abruptly – there was an attraction between that other man and myself, and Mr. Einstein managed to distract me from an awkward situation.
“I know nothing about science,” I said.
But this did not concern him, for there were many ways to think about science, he said, and he pulled a violin from its case, and began to play it. And though I would have preferred to be a passenger on that spaceship, I traveled as far as I could, while sitting in a chair.

Morning Ritual

Morning Ritual
In the damp winter months by the sea
where you are comforted by rain
I awaken well before dawn
usually chilled by the air –
insulated as much as possible
by shirts and undershirts and sweaters
under a robe –
and crank-up the heat.
My mind slowly drifts from puzzling dreams
vaguely remembered –
Darkened by the night of the sea.
So it’s time for caffeine.
The strongest of them all –
a mug of espresso made on the stove-top –
Time to sip away dark moments
and prepare for the Sun
When the forecast calls for rain.
A morning such as this will not deter the fisherman with a spear, or the old man taking his final steps on our shores, while a stranger stumbles into town, with purposeful gait, the weary traveler, suitcase in each hand, and heads to sea.