Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Dreams and Cosmic Flows

-
A flutter of eyelids,
ah, a quick path to sleep.
How long until, if at all, to
dreams and cosmic flows?
(Does one have the soul
of an artist?)
-
The canvas of night unravels
in less than predicable or
perfect forms.
-
Dreams. -
Cosmic flows.
What is the answer
to my - ?
I forget the questions.
-
Oh boy, here comes the ride.
The flow of brushstrokes
and sculpture's clay shape
a new beauty.
-
Faces of people are
seen and unseen.
-
Past residents of earth depart
while future friends assemble.
Memory is a tricky thing
in sorting out which is which.
-
Familiar faces blend with
faces masked.
Do I, did I, know, this,
these other people?
-
While a favorite time
can paint a backdrop
of night or day,
nothing seems focused
or even noticed.
-
Strange words. Noises.
Conversations repeat.
Am I hard of hearing?
Oh boy, a loop.
A loop repeats cosmic
messages?
-
Flow and freedom from care.
One's daytime, earthbound spirit
must soar while dreaming.
The energy flows.
Dreams are such wondrous things
most times,
almost like magic.
-
Colors do not greatly matter,
nor temperature,
so much as textures,
smooth walls, rough touch
faint adobe hues,
can sometimes frame
my dream picture.
-
Do I dream in black and white?
-
Noises. Conversations
with eloquent people,
those with whom I
might want to meet.
They are just like me
perhaps.
-
Is their spirit on furlough too,
in a dream as well?
Have our paths in essence
really crossed the way?
-
Is there a mission? A
purpose to this dream -
any dream?
-
Does the mind truly
wake not to another
but to true reality?
-
The mind does wander
besides wonder.
-
Is daytime - awakeness -
true reality or
the reality in another
realm of perceptions
full blown, of, from
cosmic connections?
-
Questions later, though
rarely during the process,
of the personal artform known
as this, the (my) dream?
-
All too soon as a favored niche
in repose is found,
all too soon the muse wears off.
Stardust, dreams, whatever
are shaken off with eyes
fluttering and blinking
into focus.
-
What is at hand is at hand.
Dreams or waking
all seem to fit perfectly
as they occur
and part of some
present and perfect now.

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