mist dreams me
now I awake
We are dreamed by the divine dreamer who weaves the twists and turns in our life’s path with a meticulous attention to detail. Yet, we maintain the illusion that we are in control of our lives, holding tight to the fantasy that we are masters of our fate, captains of our ship, molders of our destiny.
We attempt to grasp the Creator and instead grasp mist which paradoxically is one of the Creator’s forms, fluid, ever-changing, impossible to grab hold of. As creative writers our words need to flow, branching into streams of ideas, continually moving, shape-shifting, changing into something new . . . something more.
Drop by Drop
Being dreamed, we are like precious nectar in a bottle, poured drop by drop into life until the bottle is empty—only then do the vapors of the dream reveal themselves: tendrils of mist, pure spirit, slipping into life. Frail as butterfly’s wings we are breathed into the future, an intricately designed matrix—Indra’s net.