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The Metaphysical Dream


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The dream is a path to another world, an enticing yet unsettling vision of the mudane and fantastical alike.
Long ago cast was a dream of an interesting path, dear reader, whose nature showed the meaning of the world of dreams.
The dream was of the mundane, a mere black-tie party, a high class conglomerate form of the core point of dream: plot and place.
A dream shall start with a place, in this moment my eye was lit with light to behold a mansion around me, a beginning evades me, the end does not.
Mundane food, mundane conversation, the light whistle of flutes and the crying of strings emanating from a phonograph elsewhere in the house.
Conversations of daily routes and current happenings, contention on the finer points of life an philosophy, woven amongst that evasive concerto about me.
The dream was a symphonic gathering of buildings and forms and people and shapes, no point in it was not viable in the world of man. This much bored me.

Discontented by the stifling aura of the mundane, my eye caught the shimmer of white wines and soft merlots. Under age in the real world, it was a verboten taste.
The fascination with the concept of alcohol pierced even the world of dreams, whom I was master of, and no little statement of my power in them shall I make.
I feel in dreams. My senses perfectly awake, pain a perfect reality. As I am when I am awake, I am when I am asleep: continent, focused, and cognizant.
This was not the first time drink touched my ordinarily solemn lips in dream, and it would not be the last. I was to approach there, but find mystery.

The world of dream is always searching to right a man's path, and turn him to the plot of the dream, for it knows no other, knows no defiance of man.
A dream will rebuild itself or coax the subject of its passion to turn away from any disobedient way. I would have none of this, and I walked to the drinks.
But as a few simple turns was my course, I found myself getting lost excessively. A minute's walk became getting lost for an hour. I wandered and wandered still.
I walked on and on, trying to find my way around the house as it kept rebuilding itself, and I saw my goal so many times. But my final walk ended at a hallway.

This was a stunning sight I beheld. For, at the end of the hallway, in a presumably complete house, I saw a doorway with a split double door hinge, that led to white.
Not a white light, not a calling wail. A solid expanse of white. I stood before this mystery for a time, before I began to approach it, not knowing what it was.
I never feared the unknown. But for all I knew, walking through this door could lead me to die. I was experimenting with my life, stretching the dream to its tightest tether.
I slowly stepped a foot in, nothing happening. And in the moment of conviction, knowing fate could not change... I walked through the door.
When my whole entered, I was instantly shot out of my dream. I had gone beyond the boundary of dreams. I had journeyed where possibly none had before.

So what is a dream, dear reader? It is a small, finite, safe world built to captivate us and keep us occupied and enthralled with its plot until it ends and we wake.
Without this sanctuary of fantasy, the mind does not know if we have slept, and we will crumble as a result. This little world is everything to our mind.
What makes it, then? Your mind combs through itself looking for thoughts and memories, and uses those as building blocks to make a story as best it can.
I journeyed beyond the dream, and came to realize what a dream is. It is a small world built for us each night so that our mind can make sense of it all.
The mind is the master of puzzles, the seat of cognition, the womb of fantasy and dark delights. Whether we traipse forbidden roads or mundane worlds, our mind is the best writer you'll ever know.

Edited by KakeiTheWolf
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  • 3 weeks later...

That was magnificent, very philosophical and thought provoking especially with regards to perception of the world. I've often pondered the question of whether these dreams affect our choices given the altered perception of reality. Many of our dreams turn out to make little sense once we emerge from them. :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

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Damn. That was deep.



This speaks to the personal intimacy I have with dreams. I think it is a beautiful thing to dream, where in doing so, we learn more about a stranger that we never see, and yet, is always with us. Locked away in the deepest recesses of our mind, it is allowed to roam free, expressing itself in the only way that it can. For but awhile, we can see that person for who they really are: their fears, their desires, and all the little things we have somehow come to misplace, or perhaps, never even knew was there.


Very thought provoking and very excellent. Two thumbs up. :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

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