Whisper

There was a dream. Like Utopia. But people put me down for that word. They kill over utopia. So you didn't hear it. Let's not argue. Let this impregnate you. Let the seed flourish in your land, and let your womb take care of the rest. I want to make love to your ghost with these words. It came from an infinite source, from nothing and everything. Maybe it was dreamed by something, somewhere, somehow. Call it God? I don't know. Who am I to know? I mean I am everyone, you are everyone, but it doesn't really matter if we know it or not. You know what? Just think you know. How's that for a change? Doesn't really make a difference. Is that what Jung called collective consciousness? Stop it. The names don't really matter. Substance matters. Why do I get fixated on jargon? Is it because I want to avoid a decent progression of conversation? But hey, isn't that what I am doing right now? Stop it. Then there was you and you and you and you and yes, me, that's a given, existing in that dream now. Living in it every moment. Our unconscious is present to the dream. Our dream, I mean the dream that comes when we sleep, is also present to this dream. So the first dream and second dream are different. Should I call it another name? Stop it. You are getting stuck in names again. Stop it. We are connected to each other and to something else that is very vague for me right now, through invisible red strings in the first dream. Vagueness doesn't mean chaos. Vagueness is absolute beauty and absolute power, and absolute freedom, and absolute peace. But since I see it with my body's eyes, I see it cloudy and vague. But when I see it very distinctly, I cry. As if the beauty captures itself in water! Like seeing the reflection of the moon in a pond of water in a pitch black night in the country side. Through development, I mean when we are growing from lovely little kids to cynical bitter adults, we become more and more and for some even more and more and more and more and for some more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more stiff, bitter, and hard in our outer shells. As a result, dreams don't come back when we sleep. This is the second dream I am talking about. That was obvious though, because I said when we sleep. Why do I divert? Get to the point. Okay! Stop it. Where was I? So dreams, second meaning, don't come back but we are still, now unconsciously, connected to those red invisible strings, like the ones Dali draws in his paintings. The stiffer we are, the more we feel like we are puppets, running the show because of our helplessness. We blame it on the way the society works, the way politics operates, they way everyone is corrupted. And that is true to a more than certain degree. But why to point fingers at others when you can point it to yourself first? So, becoming open to where we stand right now at this very very moment, you can find what the dream was, the first dream, that brought you here. To see this, thinking hard from the head is not enough, thinking hard from the heart is required. Call this something else? Stop it. No more jargon talk. Just get it. Or try. If you don't, then good for you. You are not supposed to. But if you get it, you have something I really admire. Come to me and be my friend, because you are connected to me through that invisible red string. Don't divert. Stop. No. You're not a puppet. You are the dream. First one. Live it. Could you get lost, not knowing the future? You know it. Don't fool yourself. Future exists in words. So much love. I can't take this anymore. That's why I have to stop writing. Otherwise it would all be a number of letters I can't make sense of, neither can you. Like this ooo or eee. I will tell you the rest later. Or I may never do, because I don't need to explain myself. Niether do you, nor you, nor you either. Together, threegether, fourgether, fivegether, infinitygether though, everything is possible. Give everything a chance and stand for it. But first, know thy dream. And don't lose touch with your name.