The Answer

This morning.

Very early.

People, Girl, Woman, Sleep, DarkI’d been dreaming – a comfortable, satisfying dream featuring people I love doing useful, good things.  Each action, although there were separate little scenes, linked to the rest and I was feeling as if we were really getting somewhere.  It was a continuation of the dream I’d had the previous night.

And now I was no longer asleep.  Whether I was fully awake, I couldn’t say.

I was – waiting?

That was how it felt.

Waiting for pieces of a puzzle to drop into place.  There didn’t seem to be anything I needed to do other than lie there, in that extremely relaxed state and wait for something very wonderful to happen.

Slowly, a delicious glowing sensation began to flow through my mind.  It spilled over into my body.  I could actually feel those pieces dropping into position, and as each one joined the others, I began to feel better and better.

This was perfect.

This was the answer.

I was buzzing now with a gentle excitement.  I knew, with absolute certainty, that the puzzle was solved and I’d been left with the answer to the question that has been my obsession for so long.

“Is that it, then?”  I remember thinking, curiously.  “I’ve done it.  I’ve achieved my soul purpose for this lifetime.  Do I die now?”

I didn’t die.  I looked at the clock.

02:54

“No, of course I don’t die yet!” I chided myself.  “I have to write it down.  I have to get this down NOW before I fall asleep again.”

Realising how close to sleep I still was, I forced myself to sit up, switched on the bedside light and picked up the pen and journal that always wait patiently beside my bed, for just such a moment as this.

I jotted down everything that had entered my mind.  The writing was rough and jerky, but it would do for now.  A neater, fuller copy would follow later.

I turned the light off, rolled over, smiled and waited for sleep to return.  Instead, my whole body started to radiate the most intense heat.  A cold November night, but I flung off the bedclothes and sizzled.  It wasn’t unpleasant – just a rush of intense energy.

How long I stayed like that, I have no idea.  By 5am I was relaxing again.  The next time I checked the clock it was almost 9.

A teaching day, and the house to clear up for my family coming at the weekend.  I grinned to myself.

After enlightenment chop wood, carry water.

All day I’ve worked.  Now it’s night time and I’m tired, red-eyed, needing to sleep.  Still there’s nothing to show for this morning’s adventure beyond the hasty scribblings in my journal…

…and this delicious feeling that this most precious of jewels now sits here inside me.

One day, my friends, I’ll find the right words to share it with you.  For now, this must suffice.

 

 

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Wordpress, Blog, Blogger, BloggingMy blog empire is growing…

I have, for several years now, used this site – Looking at Life – to do exactly that.  I’ve told anecdotes from my own life, and those of others close to me; I’ve explored metaphysical themes in all manner of directions; I’ve ranted about education and its shortcomings in our society; I’ve shared the ups and downs of my creative endeavours, whether renovating the cottage or making models.

During those years, I’ve been fortunate enough to attract an ever-growing range of followers.  Thank you.  It’s great to have you along and I’ve enjoyed exploring your sites as much as reading your comments on mine.  Several of you I now count among my friends, despite not having met you in person.  I’m aware, though, that the range of subjects covered here won’t be to everyone’s taste.  For that reason, my blogging has split off in three directions.

Fractal, Spiral, Geometry, PerceptionLooking at Life: I will attempt (no promises, mind!) to keep this blog site for my explorations of all that LIFE involves – and by ‘life’ I mean every aspect of existence as a conscious being, whether physically present on Planet Earth, travelling through dreams or ‘alive’ in other realities.  I will also continue, from time to time, to muse upon the wonders of A-Thought (autistic thinking), remote viewing and other psychic abilities on this blog.  This will remain my ‘main’ site because this is where my heart and soul are based.

 

 

20161111_162239Steampunk – Shrunk!:   https://steampunk-shrunk.com/ This is my latest venture.  Please head over there if you’d like to follow the back-stories of the tiny, dolls’ house sized characters I’m fabricating for the shop my son is running online.  Each figure will have his or her own post and a link to their pages at the shop.  There will also be articles about the process of making the models and anything else related to that aspect of my life.

 

 

 

 

 

Book, Exposition, Composition, PolandOpen the box:   http://opentheboxweb.wordpress.com   This is my education blog.  I’ve given it very little attention recently, having put all my educational energy into planning lessons for my own pupils, but once full health is restored and energy levels repleted, I’ll carry on adding free resources to that site.

 

I look forward to virtually meeting you at one or more of my blog sites in the future.

Looking at Light

7:56 in the morning.  I turn on my phone and a text message arrives almost at once.

English: 5D virtual 7x7x7x7x7 sequential move ...

I get a few normal texts – the ‘C U at 3.30’ type – but not so many.  Most of the texts I get are more like this one.

‘Earthman will soon discover that he is not a unique, independent creation but one of many forms of intelligence fashioned out of multi-dimensional light.’

I’ll call the sender Lucy, because it means light and she is full of the stuff, and light is what we were discussing when she came round yesterday.

She arrived clutching The Book of Enoch, a white primrose plant and a couple of custard tarts.  Within the space of ten minutes, she had given me the plant, eagerly seized one of my spare copies of The Words of William (“I just opened it at random, and he’s talking about something that links to this…”), shared the cakes, and settled down with a cup of herbal tea for one of our long, rambling discussions.

Ideas bounced and ricocheted around the room like cosmic ping-pong balls.  For about three hours, we quoted books, dreams, visions and images.  We spoke of life, death and everything between; we spoke of other worlds and dimensions, paranormal experiences and what-it-all-means.  It was exhausting and invigorating, all at once.

We’re not walking the same path, Lucy and me; we’re not even heading in similar directions, but we are finding enough synchronicities and similarities on our routes to make discussion well worth while.

Then, this morning, that text, followed half an hour later by another, insisting that

…it is important to teach the scientists that matter is generated from Light…

I’d been telling her about my thoughts, you see, about our Selves (I mean the whole divine holofractalgraphic  – Nassim Haramein’s word! – Selves) as beings of Light creating physical human selves and the matter around them.  I couldn’t say how, exactly.  I was describing this great stream of white light consciously and intentionally moving through something like a prism, or a rainstorm… the ‘veil’ perhaps? … and separating into a spectrum of rainbow colours.  I get lost in physics, and need analogies to help me find my way.

Aura, Chakra, Color, New Age, CenterSo now I had the Light Self vibrating into these different frequencies – very high vibrations up at the purple end and lower ones down at the red part.  Could that, I wondered, be where we get the idea of the subtle bodies from – the ones nested inside each other like rainbow-coloured Russian dolls?  Was that what the chakras were – aspects of our shining Light, stepped down so that we could spend a while experiencing physical life on this planet?

Not, of course, the only way that Light could be separated out: she spoke of other types of being our Selves could try out. Our imaginations conjured star beings in dimensions overlapping ours, glimpsed as orbs or flashes of light or quite unseen by us, but quite real and solid to themselves, just as we are to ourselves.

The conversation made perfect sense to us.  To others?  Not so much, perhaps.

I’m lucky to have friends like ‘Lucy’.  I’m lucky that conversations – and texts – like that are part of my everyday life.

 

A Small Step for Me-kind

English: Tibetan endless knot Nederlands: Tibe...

What is me-kind?  Well in my philosophy – gleaned mainly from the Seth Materials and backed up by the intuitiony bit inside that says, ‘Yeah, that feels right,’ – the overarching personality that I understand as ‘me’ has had/ is having/ will have many lives or incarnations.  These all, obviously, take place in different historical times and geographical locations.  I’m reasonably sure I have, for example, had ‘past’ lives in Egypt as a slave girl, Europe as a survivor of a Viking raid, Atlantis as a teacher and Glastonbury as a mage and Ice Age chieftain’s daughter.

I’ve encountered these alternative ‘me’s in dreams, past life regressions and psychic readings.  I’ve discovered individuals who play key parts in my present life cropping up in those lives too.  All this is fairly standard reincarnational theory as it tends to be interpreted here in the West, in metaphysical circles, at any rate.

Seth takes it further though.  From a vantage point beyond physical existence, Seth takes time out of the equation.  Past, present and future lives, from that perspective, not only happen in the one, unfolding eternal moment beyond our Earthly concept of time, but affect one another.  A discovery in one life can and will affect what happens in another.  An intractable problem may cause us – with help from our soul family – to set up another life, with the express purpose of finding a solution.  Slightly mind-bending, I’ll grant you, but worth considering.

Auguste Rodin: L'Âge d'airain (The Age of Bron...

Auguste Rodin: L’Âge d’airain (The Age of Bronze), life-sized plaster cast, c. 1876.

Take my feet, for example.  Well don’t.  You wouldn’t want them – honestly.  They have been causing me grief and problems for many years.  There’s nothing physically wrong with them, but they’ve usually felt numb and icy cold, or they could ache and burn and the skin just felt too tight.  In recent years I haven’t been a confident walker.  I’m scared of slipping or falling on uneven ground; I tend to shuffle rather than stride.  Most of all – and this sounds terribly strange, I know – they just haven’t felt as if they belong to me.

 

This image depicts a Reiki treatment in progre...

Now over the last few weeks, I’ve been attending Reiki healing sessions with a lady who wanted case studies for her Reiki 2 training.  I’ve had some strange experiences during Reiki sessions in the past, so I wasn’t altogether surprised when she asked whether I’d ever broken any bones in my foot.  I hadn’t.

“It’s odd then,” she said.  “I had this very clear image of just about every bone in your left foot being smashed and broken.  Horrible.”

In the time between that and my next healing, she’d been back and discussed this with her teacher.  He’d told her not to share random visions and images with clients, as all sorts of things could enter the mind whilst giving Reiki.  He instructed her only to talk about them if they kept reappearing throughout the session and were particularly strong and persistent.

“But this one WAS,” she explained to me, at the end of our next session.  “This time I saw your feet bound – really tightly.  It was like those poor Chinese women, you know?”

The so-called "Lily feet" (right) co...

I shuddered.  Yes, that would explain every one of the painful and uncomfortable sensations I’d had in my feet.  It would explain my difficulties with walking and my fear of falling.  ‘Past life?’ we both wondered.  It seemed very likely.  Seth talks about ‘bleed-throughs’ from one of our lives to another.  I needed more information.

As usual, I went to discuss it with Koimul, my ever present and patient Guide, whom I can reach via dowsing over a keyboard.  Here’s the discussion we had, partly dowsed and partly received telepathically:

Do I have a ‘past’ life in which my feet are bound, as in Chinese culture?

YES

That explains so much about the way they sometimes feel, but why are those pains bleeding through into this life? I’m assuming it has something to do with being controlled and dominated?

NO YOUR FOCUS IN THIS LIFE WAS TO BREAK FREE

And I’ve done it, yes?

YES

So why does the foot pain persist?

SO THAT YOU COULD RECOGNISE THE GREAT STEP YOU TOOK

And now I have done so…

YOUR FEET WILL BE FREE

Was D my husband in that life?

YES

Hmm. It explains so much. Can what I’ve done in this life help the ‘me’ in that other life?

NOT PHYSICALLY

But in her dreams she can know freedom and walk in my feet?

YOU HAVE UNDERSTOOD PERFECTLY

May I know her name?

XANG

Interesting, eh?  One final synchronicity:

I went to bed that night wondering about Xang and her life.  Just before I feel asleep, I saw a very clear image of a building with a low stone wall in front and a small dog running along outside.  It was so vivid, I was fully awake and wondering what it meant.  I immediately saw the same vision again.  The next day, I decided to Google bound feet.  The first link I clicked on was a video made by a lady who had travelled to China and found some elderly women whose feet had been bound as children.  The opening scene of the film was exactly the image I’d seen the night before.

And yes, my feet are feeling much better now.

 

 

 

 

I the Beholder

A woman’s eye. Esperanto: Virina okulo. França...

Musing again this week – that’s partly free-flow thinking-at-a-keyboard and partly inspiration from the Muse – the wider consciousness that manages to squeeze into my awareness from time to time.

The Muse turns up in dreams sometimes: In the latest, scales were falling from my eyes in a slightly alarming manner; first a clear membrane slipped from each of them – rather like a contact lens.  Then another layer fell from one eye.  No pain, but now there was no iris there, no pupil, just blank and white.  That scared me enough to wake me up, but when I slept again, I was seeing people differently.  At first they looked normal and were most certainly alive, but as I changed my position and viewed them from different angles, I saw gaps in them.  There were uneven holes in the covering – skin, hair, clothes – and I could see the sky through them as they stood on a cliff top.  The bodies were merely husks – hollow and incomplete. Cast off, perhaps, like an empty chrysalis?

So, I decided, the Muse is pointing out that perception is not as straightforward as it may seem…  In fact, like beauty, it is very much in the eye of the beholder.

I had to look that word up: from Old English behalden/bihaldan/behaeldan (depending on the dictionary you choose) meaning be + hold/keep/cling to.  Plenty of truth in there; we ‘are’ in our day-to-day 3D existence very much defined by the ideas we cling to.  Those, in turn, are defined by our senses – with sight often the most trusted of these.

IMG_20150906_140940So I will look at a tree, for example, and see the gnarled trunk, the waving branches, the ripening apples, the goldening leaves.  That is the image of ‘tree’ I be-hold; it defines my ongoing perception of the tree.  If I use a camera, the image – despite losing a dimension – backs up my be-holding.  My camera was made by humans, to view as we view.

My Muse is prompting me, though, to widen my concept of perception.  How is this tree perceived by the small bird singing in its branches, by the beetle burrowing in the bark, by the ant or the clump of grass in the meadow below, or indeed by the tree itself?

To any of them, I’m guessing, my be-holding would mean nothing.  Those with eyes may see ultra-violet or infra-red aspects of the tree which are invisible to me.  Those with different – non-visual – means of perception would interpret it in ways I can’t even imagine.

Is there, for them, a place where tree stops and air, earth or self begins?

For us human BE-ings, the self is a useful repository for our concepts, memories, senses, feelings.  It can, though, be limiting.  What and where (and even ‘when’) are we when we move beyond that husk and be-hold something wider, deeper, wilder and greater, I muse?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ali on Fire

It was a shopping street, pedestrianised, but only because the steep, cobbled hill was never built for vehicles.  Fairly crowded.  I have no back-story for why I was there, but I was.

The young man passed close by me – his clothes were poor quality.  A white top with a grey and black hoodie over it.  He pulled the hood up as he walked by and something drew my attention to him.  I saw that he had a lighter in his hand.  Suddenly I realised what he was about to do.

He looked, rather shyly, around him and muttered, “Sorry,” as he put the flame to his clothing.

An instinct for self preservation made me leap back, but the street was narrow, with shops on either side.

“It won’t take long,” he was saying, in the same, sad apologetic tone.  “The pain will be over quick.”  He rolled himself into a ball and began rolling down the hill.

The flames licked half-heartedly at his clothes.  As he rolled, they went out.  Suddenly he was back at the top, close to me again.

“Not enough petrol,” he said miserably and began looking around as if searching for a source of more.

In an instant I was in front of him.  It struck me as slightly odd that I couldn’t smell any petrol.  “Think of your mother!”  I was screaming at him.

He sneered nastily, but looked at me.

I held his gaze and repeated it.  This time it got through.  He hung his head and looked so wretched and miserable that I risked putting my hand on his shoulder.  He didn’t resist.

“Come on, let’s sort you out,” I said, and led him back to where I worked.  It was an educational establishment.

“Hungry?” I asked, as he slumped into a chair.

He looked up, hope burning in his eyes.  The boy was ravenous.  I hunted about for pieces of food.  My teaching assistant, a lovely motherly soul I’d worked with for many years, found some cake and handed it to him.

“She’s a good guy,” he remarked to me, as he shovelled food into his mouth.  A couple of the students had appeared by now – lads around his age..  No one asked any questions.  They sized up the situation and began hunting in lockers and cupboards, finding more snacks he could eat.

He started talking to me then.  Told me his name was Ali.  Told me about his siblings and his father – a man he loved and respected; a man who would be heartbroken to know his son died a martyr to his fundamentalist cause.

He told me he belonged to a group.  They had a leader.
“We got to do what he says,” Ali explained, with a slight helpless shrug. “It’s like this -.”
And now I was seeing him in a separate location, over to the right and slightly above where I and the others were still gathered around the table.

Hold on…

Ali was over there with a rather ramshackle group of young guys who looked similar to him, being drilled by a thin man with dark eyes who barked commands and instructions at them.  They had to repeat what he said as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  No time for them to think – to process his words.  His words became their words.  Simple and effective.  Ali and the others were being indoctrinated.  Ali was being chosen.  I could feel his pride and his despair and his regret all mingled together.

So how come I’m able to see all this?  Just now Ali was sitting eating at my table.  His location has changed, like in a film… or… a dream.

I was still in the school, or college, or whatever it was.  The students who’d been helping find food for Ali were watching his scene as well.  They’d realised what was going on and were swearing at him, calling him ugly names.  I was remonstrating with them – imploring them to listen and understand his dilemma.

At the same time it’s dawning on me that this is a dream.  

Ali is a character in my dream.  

Or maybe I’m a character in his?  This feels more likely.

Now I know it’s a dream, it unravels.  But not before – telepathically now – Ali tells me he chose me to help him decide.  I wake up, knowing I’ve helped him.

 

Ever done that?  Gone to bed with a massive problem, slept on it and woken, knowing what you must do?  Would it be too far-fetched to believe that Ali, whoever he is, did just that, somewhere?  Might he, at some level beyond waking consciousness, have invited me into his dream to help him work through the choices?  If so, I’m honoured to have been chosen and I wish him well.

New Year at Lime Cottage

It’s been a while, but it’s time to put the cottage back into the blog, because like the year, it’s turning.

This time last year, owning my own home was no more than a distant dream – and not one I took very seriously.  It was there on the wish list, though – waiting to manifest when I was ready to receive.

Half a year ago I was in a very different space – battling with officials and contractors, packing up my possessions and getting ready to take one of the largest gambles in my life.  I was just about to move into a cracked, leaking, broken-down old building and hoping that somehow I could turn it into a home.

Oh there had been miracles and synchronicities a-plenty, just to get to the stage where I owned it, but whether I’d be able to bring it back into a habitable state was very much in the balance.

cottage scaffoldingSummer happened, but not at Lime Cottage.  The building was encased in scaffolding, so that almost no sunlight reached inside.  The beautiful garden was disappearing under an ever-increasing mound of builders’ junk.  The rosemary bush was almost flattened by the cement mixer; the hollyhocks uprooted and pushed aside by the roofers; the marigolds were cowering under broken tiles and guttering.

As autumn arrived and days shortened, the scaffolding finally went.  So – very gradually – did the workmen.  At last, I had the place to myself and could begin what my builder called, “just the cosmetic stuff” – the process of turning it into a home.

That’s what I’ve been doing this month – transforming the tiny study into a warm, vibrant space where my young students can work and – when he comes visiting – my little grandson can sleep.

 The budget is as tight as the workspace, and the preparation is gruelling – filling cracks in the plaster, sanding, priming the woodwork, painting the ceiling… but finally I could start to make a ‘cosmetic’ difference – painting the walls, whilst watching the most glorious sunset over the Somerset Levels and the Polden Hills beyond.

Things are turning.  Days are imperceptibly starting to lengthen and by the end of the coming year I could be living in a fully decorated and welcoming home.

Warmest thanks to everyone who has read, empathised, sympathised and encouraged me during this year. the journey has been amazing – and you have helped me on my way more than you’ll ever know.

A very happy, peaceful and joy-filled New Year to everyone out there.

 

Meeting Karma Half Way

Preparing the flower arrangement

Back earlier in the year, I had a dream.  It was one of those coloured, ‘notice-me’ ones.  In it, I was being shunted rapidly between different places and events – very rapidly, so that I was able to see how what happened in one place was affecting what happened in another, although they weren’t connected in any obvious way.

There were many images – most of which faded from my conscious memory.  One that lingered was a piece of intricate lace being worked (this was at the time I was busily restoring my vintage lace curtains).  The scene cut to a flower arrangement which was being created and becoming ever more complicated and beautiful. Cut: back to lace.  Cut: back to flowers.  So it went on, almost instantaneously until I grasped what was happening…  The construction of the lace-work was affecting the construction of the floral arrangement… and vice versa.  In some strange way they were helping each other.

The instant I understood that some sort of symbiotic expansion was involved, I was taken to another pair of scenes, which similarly affected one another.  All the images were repeated many times.  I felt I was being instructed to remember this – to notice its significance.

Curious.

Cover of "The Oversoul Seven Trilogy: The...

A few days later, I was reading one of Jane Roberts’ Oversoul 7 books.  For those not familiar with Jane, she was a trance channeller in the 1970s.  She would deliver material from Seth, which her husband Robert recorded.  While she was ‘out’, though, she gained extra insights and information from higher realms.  Some of this, she included in the trilogy I was struggling through at this time – a sort of fictionalised journey into the links between various humans and their oversoul.

The synchronicities started buzzing when one of her characters was staring at a huge mosaic panel with ‘living’ pictures, all of which changed in just the way my dream objects had – whatever happened in one was changing certain aspects of others.  This was no simple, linear cause and effect; it was a complex mutual development.

As Carl Jung said,

Synchronicity reveals the meaningful connections between the subjective and objective world.
So now I was on the look out for the meaning behind this message.  Sure enough it arrived.
I was chatting to ‘Higher Will’ and commenting that although the mental body I was connecting with was unimpeded by physical and emotional constraints, it still had his personality and traits I recognised from when we talked at a more human level.

He replied that although all beings are linked, each has a unique personality which extends beyond physical life.

“So all my ‘past’ and ‘future’ lives share the same personality?” I asked.

BASICALLY

Although in each life, we develop different aspects of them – becoming more ‘well rounded’?

BUT NOT THAT SIMPLE     YOUR OTHER LIVES ARE DEVELOPING TOGETHER

This links to what I’ve been reading in Jane Roberts, and what I was shown recently in a dream.   So although my lives happen in other ‘times’ they are not sequential – they all happen together?

YES

Fascinating. So today, for example, in this life I mastered two new skills.  Has that had some effect in other lives – like helping me to solve problems in them?

YESSSSSSS

In all of them, or just one or some?

FAIRLY GREAT IN SOME BARELY NOTICED IN OTHERS

 

Maybe, if Karma was taken out of time, this is how it would look…

How incredible to think that a simple act we perform today is having repercussions throughout our lives down the ‘ages’ and beyond – and the other way around, of course…

 

 

June at Lime Cottage

June gardenChurch bells woke me from a deep sleep this morning.

Thoughts gradually began to form:

Sunday……………

first day of June…………….

sun’s shining…………..

love thyself…………….

Not sure where that last one came from, or why it arrived with the King James Bible language.  Something to do with those church bells, maybe?

At any rate, the advice seemed good.  I neatly stashed a whole pile of ‘shoulds’ at the very back of my mind, ran a deep bubble bath and asked myself what I’d most like to do on this glorious morning.

The answer was there at once.  Head off to Lime Cottage and do some gardening.

I still don’t live there.  I’m waiting for the conservation team at the local council to give me consent to have the leaky roof and the great gaping hole in the ceiling fixed.  Until then I’m sleeping, eating and working in the little rented town centre house and spending every spare minute at the cottage, stripping off wallpaper and flaking paint.

Not today, though.  Today was a day to enjoy my new garden.

poppies

It’s been almost six years since I’ve had a garden of my own.  I simply don’t have the words to express the joy I felt plunging my hands into the deep, dark loam and rescuing buried violas and straggling euphorbias from rampaging bindweed and goose grass.

The aquilegias and forget-me-nots are just past their best now, but the roses and chives look wonderful together, and love-in-a-mist and margarites are flowering in drifts right through the garden.

damsel flyI watched honeybees and their huge bumbling cousins visiting foxgloves and electric-blue damsel flies basking on hollyhock leaves and nibbling delicately at the parsley flowers.

Herbs, fruit bushes, wild flowers and cottage garden plants live together here in a glorious, tolerant medley.

Who knows how many generations ago they first arrived?  Some planted perhaps by the owners of the 17th century clay tobacco pipes I find fragments of wherever I dig in the soil.

foxglovesSo yes – finally – after years of wishing and hoping, I once more have a garden of my own.  I won’t be putting my own stamp on it, though.  This beauty and exuberance has taken centuries to form.

I will be this garden’s willing custodian – trimming back the grass and honeysuckle, encouraging the shyest plants and checking the most rampant, but basically allowing it to delight and surprise me as every new month brings fresh pleasures.

The photos were all snapped there on my i-pod this morning.

Happy June from Lime Cottage, everyone.

 

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Such stuff as dreams are made on

Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade in the 1941 film ...

On?  Of?

I was sure I remembered Prospero saying, “such stuff as dreams are made ON” in The Tempest.  Apparently it was Humphrey Bogart who decide to use the line in  The Maltese Falcon in 1941 but changed it slightly to ‘The stuff that dreams are made of.’  Hence the confusion…

William Shakespeare

So, full Shakespearean quote:

We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

That, it seems to me, is The Bard’s way of saying that the lifetime we are currently engaged in is a brief dream (sur)rounded by ‘the big sleep’ of our wider existence.   (Interesting that the Bogart connections keep sneaking in here.  I wonder what that’s about…).

I particularly like the way Shakespeare sees us as ‘stuff’ – some kind of fabric or matrix – on which dreams are created.  The play is used as an analogy for life so many times in his work and in that quote, Prospero is talking about a play within a play.  Layers and layers and layers…

Still, I digress.

What I wanted to muse about today was dreaming.

When my children and grandson were newborn, I’d watch them dreaming and wonder what form dreams could take for tiny people with no verbal language.  Like dog and cat dreams, I suppose, they’d be filled with sensations, memories, emotions that had no need to be confined by words.  Were they linking to the ‘surrounding sleep’ – the awareness of who they really were?  Were they being given a brief respite from the physical world to return to the light of pure spirit?  In fact, is that what dreaming is about for all of us?

My grandson is now, in his own words, “two anna narf” – a magical age.  He’s starting to understand the difference between ‘dreams’ and ‘reality’ but the two are still gloriously blurred.

Happy Faces Biscuit

“I see biscuit people!” he announced joyfully to his mother as she went in to his bedroom one morning recently.  “They round!  And they real – not a dream!  They talk to me.”

The biscuit people seem to appear fairly often in his dream state.  He hasn’t been able to relate the conversations he has with them, but told me on Saturday that the biscuit people had been sad the night before.

As each of us gropes our way towards remembering and describing dreams, we are forced into using familiar symbols to squeeze such multi-layered experiences into words.  Our physical selves cling to familiar ideas with which to clothe these other realities we have visited.  I’d need to be a wordsmith of Shakespearean skills to even attempt to verbalise many of my dreams.  My own language falls sadly short.

Yet my grandson, it seems, has found another way of using dreams.  Having told his mother he was sad that Grandma had gone after I left his home on Monday, he later brightened up and told her he would try to have a dream about me.

What a wonderful idea.

After all, if we are such stuff as dreams are made on, we are perfectly capable of creating – dreaming up – any reality we choose.

Oh, and a very happy 450th birthday to Will Shakespeare 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

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