how blurry is the border between which dream? waking as the parting and the entering. eyes closing and then another opening.
as in
I am not I
I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
the one who remains silent while I talk,
the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
the one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
the one who will remain standing when I die.
- Juan Ramon Jimenez (translated by Robert Bly)
or
Song Of The Race
Many people have gathered together,
I am ready to start in the race,
And the Swallow with beating wings
cools me in readiness for the word.
Far in the west stands the Black mountain
Around which our racers ran at noon.
Who is this man running with me,
The shadow of whose hands I see?
-an american indian song from the southwest
talking with my friend the other day about dreams and how we often either have the perspective of the participant or the observer. a fully-embodied "I" consciousness of experience in dreams versus the sense of being a detached audience watching your self, or someone else, from behind a thin curtain. I am typically more of a participant myself...
something from a book i enjoyed last summer...
"From there Nailwal took me to visit another swami who lived up in a high cave, halfway up a sheer precipice...His name was Swami Parnamad Addhoot Maharaj, and he sat with his legs crossed in the lotus position on a pile of straw. By his side he kept a pot of ink and a sheet of paper, and when I asked him why he did that, he told me he used them to write down his dreams.
'Dreams,' he said, 'prove that another life exists besides this one, and they also prove that life itself is a dream. Usually the most painful dreams seem to be the most real, but then when we wake up we realize that what we experienced was nothing more than a dream, and so we are relieved and happy. The same is true of life, for when we die we shall realize that we have been dreaming, and that our sufferings were not real. We will wake up and be happy in death. Another quality of dreams should also be remembered, and that is that dreams usually make no sense; they are often absurd and the themes are disconnected. But the truth is that life is much the same. Thus it is entirely vain to try to give it some meaning or to direct it. Life is only a little less absurd and disconnected than a dream. The same pattern may continue in death, and it may prove to be only a little less absurd and disconnected than life. Everything is repeated as in a series of mirrors.'
After he had spoken, the swami began to nod his head back and forth, and he said nothing more. I myself began to feel cold, for my thin clothing was from the south of India and I was not able, as Swami Parnad Addhoot Maharaj was, to produce internal heat.
We then went down a path cut into the face of the rock, which eventually led us back to the temple. I sat down on the steps and found myself in the company of beggars and sick men, saints and bandits, assassins, magicians, and poets."
-from The Serpent's Paradise by Miguel Serrano
Garuda from Andres Salaff on Vimeo.
and some fire:
i dreamed of jealousy and a man who didn't want to answer her question. my mother reciting a poem. comforted by my sister's love. a party and complaints of lame excuses for one who couldn't come. a house that looked like it had been abandoned or burned down once. it felt familiar from another dream- that i had been in it once. the next day returning and the same house now on fire inside filling with thick white smoke. i pulled out in my old car then turned around, wanting to go take a picture to post- had this very clear image of my hand in smoke. a firetruck was arriving or leaving and blocked my way. once again thwarting my chances of taking photos in dreams as this has been a recurring theme- mostly as pertaining to trying to snap photos of whales in dreams...
and
fire jumping instructions for persian new year:
jump over the fire and say "zardi-ye man az to, sorkhi-ye to az man." That means: My yellowness goes to you, your redness comes to me.
soundtrack:
Sonido Martines Mix: El Somnambulo Orientalista
(i like his t-shirt)
and
"sleeping in these foxholes, hungry and cold, i had a dream last night. i dreamed i saw you..."
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