C.G.Ayling

Tag: dreams

  • a Dream, a Reality

    Dreams often feel like a frightening reality, but the most frightening reality feels like a dream.

    My eyes open. Don’t know where I am. It is cool. The lights are dim. I’m on a narrow bed with the back raised into almost a sitting position. But I’m not sitting, I’m lying down. Pipes all over. All over the bed, all over me. I’m facing the door, it’s made of glass, a double-wide door made of glass. The glass door is open, but nobody enters. They just walk past, without glancing in. Men and women, walking past, oblivious to me. I watch. Time passes. How to count the time? A green dot plots a graph I don’t understand. Rhythmic pulses of green leaving fading lines that disappear, then come again. I need to pee. I try to stand up. I cannot. Pipes in my way. Clear plastic pipes. One plastic pipe ends in my arm. I trace it with my eyes. It hurts to move my head. A bag, suspended from a silver pole. Drip… drip… drip. Two ways to keep the time. Pulses of green, or clear drops dripping into a pipe that feeds my arm. More pipes, these lead to my legs. Legs strapped in socks that have no feet. A gargantuan struggle. I overcome. Now I’m sitting up. Pounding pain in my skull. Three ways to keep the time. Clear drops that drip. A bouncing green dot that fades, then comes again. A drummer in my head. I reach toward my calves. Not enough strength to tug the pipes free. Pain, arching through my brain. Eyes squeeze shut. I don’t give up. Time counted three ways passes. Another fruitless tug. Coarse tearing rip. I force my eyes open. Not socks. A Velcro seam. It opens slowly. Uncovered leg is bare. A man walks past. He doesn’t see me. A few hundred drips of pounding green agony. Both my legs are bare. I swing them off the bed. As if on cue, a woman walks in. “What are you doing?” No threat in her tone. Just a question. What am I doing? “I need to pee.” Reassuring tone, “You don’t need to get up for that.” I struggle to make sense of that, but cannot. “I can see the bathroom. I need to go there.” I nod toward the bathroom door. My skull tries to explode. “Do you know where you are?” Where am I? Can’t shake my head. I meet her eyes. Gentle, reassuring eyes. “No.” She nods, as if no is the right answer. Is this place a secret? “Do you know your name?” I look down. Who am I? I must have a name. Doesn’t everyone have a name? I don’t have a name. “No.” She nods again. So, another right answer. A nameless man, in a secret place he doesn’t know. Urgency. “I have to pee.” I manage to stand. Why are my legs so weak? A single, jarring step. The pipe ending in my arm tugs taut. Got to pee. Irritation. My free hand reaches for the pipe. Tug. Rip it out! Got to pee! The woman calls for help. Reaches for my arm, holds it tight against another tug. “I’ve got to pee!” A man and another woman rush in. The man is much stronger than me. “He doesn’t know his name, or where he is.” The man’s face softens, “Calm down, bud. You’re in a hospital and your name is Charles.” A pause to let this sink in. It doesn’t. I know what a hospital is, but I don’t know Charles. He points at one of the pipes. “That’s a catheter. You don’t need to go to the bathroom to pee, you just pee. It won’t make a mess.” I know what a catheter is. I had one before. My first memory of me. I know what a catheter is. I had one before.

    Though you may think this is a poorly written story full of partial thoughts framed in badly written fragmentary sentences, it is not. It is an episode I remember while still in the ICU, written exactly as I remember it. A solid week of memory gone, apart from this dream like recollection.  When we’ve lost everything even pain becomes precious.

  • Dreams

    Why do so many fear their dreams?

    I have read research that indicates people have more nightmares than they have dreams. Personally, I don’t believe it. Why? Because I am a people, and I remember as many of my dreams as I do my nightmares, indeed I probably remember more dreams than I do nightmares.

    So how could the scientific research being done, be wrong?

    Well, like so many types of research, I think it is only as good as the questions it asks. That is a major flaw isn’t it? If the researchers are asking the wrong questions, then how can they expect to get the right answers? Is scientific research really only as good as the questions it asks when it begins? Sadly, in many cases I think so. Why? Because of the way in which the research is currently undertaken.

    Let me explain my thinking. Research is no longer done for its own sake.  Actually, I don’t know if research has ever been done for its own sake. Apparently no one can afford pure research. Research must be funded before it can really begin. This funding is often provided in the form of grants given in response to proposals that state specifically what the research hopes to uncover.

    That is a poor state of affairs indeed. It bodes ill for such obvious reasons they should require no explanation. {Of course, I’ll address a couple of the most significant problems because if I don’t, then what would the point of this post be? 🙂  Read on, and find out.}

    Primarily, and perhaps most importantly, research proposals must be written so as to attract funding. If a sponsor can’t be wooed with the explicitly stated goals of your desired research, then your research is unlikely to receive funding, which means it is unlikely to move forward.

    Think about that, and you soon realize this inevitably means research attractive to wealthy sponsors is undertaken far more often than research for research’s own sake.

    Think about that, and you soon realize research that can be converted back into money is far more attractive to wealthy sponsors that research which cannot. Why? Well, think about it… The principle interest of wealth, is its retention.

    Secondarily, and perhaps equally as important as the already clarified “most important”, is the inescapable fact that all research projects have a lifespan. Why is this significant? Because once a researcher completes their current research project, though their project might be over, their life is not. Which means they must find another research project. Which means they must fund another research project. Amazing how a single letter can change the entire meaning of a complete sentence, isn’t it? Sooner or later everyone realizes that if you’re nice to people they are more likely to be nice to you. Which means that if your research is favorable to those who funded it, you have a better chance of returning to the funding honey/money pot for a second helping. Which means that if your research is not favorable to your funder… well, the funder you found won’t long be your funder, will they?

    Both of these reasons inevitably result in biased research.

    But how can science be biased, you ask? Easy, by focusing on the wrong questions. How can questions be wrong? Easy, when they lead to the answers someone wants.

    And thus to the question with which I opened this post. Which I’ll now rephrase as, “Why do so many fear remembering their dreams?”

    To me, that is the real question. Why are so many so scared of remembering their dreams?

    You see, I believe dreams are crucial to our well-being.

    Indeed, I don’t simply believe that, I know it for an absolute fact. How do I know that? Well, firstly from my own experience, and secondly because some investigation has been done into this rather unprofitable area of research. Such research invariably finds that if animals are deprived of Rapid Eye Movement sleep for any significant time their performance significantly degrades.  And yes, contrary to popular belief, we humans are indeed animals. My own personal experience, on which I place at least equivalent weight to the scientific research, has shown me that not only does my performance degrade, but I also start suffering from signs of dementia in which I start becoming confused by waking dreams.

    All said, I figure that if dreams are sufficiently important that our bodies literally enforce them on us, whether we’re awake or asleep, then they must be crucial to our well-being. I honestly don’t care what anyone says contrary to this – everything our bodies and minds do, is done for a reason. Nothing “just happens”.

    Dreams are about reason. If we’re deprived of dreams, we lose not only our ability to reason, but reason itself. In other words, we go crazy.

    I don’t doubt that for an instant.

    What I don’t understand {Okay, okay… there is lots I don’t understand!} is why so little research is done into something so crucial to life itself. Sadly, I am fairly certain it isn’t because people aren’t interested.  No, I’m pretty sure it is because no one has figured out how to sell the concept of making money from other people’s dreams to those with the money to fund the research.

    What a sad state of affairs for humanity! If money is not to be made, it doesn’t matter… Wrong.

    Anyway, back to the opening, and subsequently modified, question of why so many are scared of their dreams.

    Many, many reasons – not based on research, just on my thoughts. Some of these thoughts are further questions which I answer, however I encourage you to provide your own answers, and maybe even ask yourself additional questions.  Remember, the best questions always lead to another why, and often to another way.

    Where do answers come from? From questions…

    Do we awaken to nightmares more often than we do to dreams? I think most people do, but I don’t think this is because we have more nightmares than we have pleasant dreams. I think it is because most people are sufficiently scared by their nightmares that their body actually rouses them to wakefulness in order to flee. Terror is not a fun state of mind, but it is certainly sensational. Sure, some people tell themselves they enjoy being terrified, as witnessed by the popularity of horror movies and books, but I think what they are really enjoying is the sensations terror induces.

    If the assumption that people wake to nightmares more often than to pleasant dreams is correct, then it is quite obvious why people would fear remembering their dreams.

    However, this begs another question. Do we have nightmares more often than we have pleasant dreams? I don’t believe we do, however I do believe we fully awake to nightmares more often than we do to pleasant dreams. Why? Because when we feel ourselves awaking from a good dream, we are rewarded not by waking, but by lingering within the dream. I’m pretty certain the following statement is true… For us to remember our dreams, we must be awake.

    Good news! We can remember our good dreams. All we need to do is learn to wake up as they are ending… Think how amazing that would be. Not only could we enjoy our dreams when we’re having them, but we could enjoy them forever by remembering them at will.

    I know how to remember my dreams. I do it often. I will not tell.

    What I don’t know, is how to ensure I will dream dreams worth remembering.

    Why hasn’t research been done into this? I believe it is because no one knows how to make money from other people’s dreams. I believe it is because true happiness lies within more than without. Happiness is readily accessible in our dreams, if only we knew how to initiate and recall them. Happiness can’t be bought at any price, and price is what the funders of research are focused upon. Happy people don’t need things to make them happy, and the funders of research are more interested in things they can sell, than in dreams – which are free.

    What do you believe?

    ~ Dreams ~
    ~
    Inspiration,
    dwells everywhere,
    it is in our dreams,
    and in the air,
    it is the wind that blows
    without,
    and it is the air we breathe
    within.
    ~

    Though I won’t tell how I remember my dreams, I have told of my dreams. My work {to me Beltamar’s War is far more than merely a novel} is an example of my dreams. Malmaxa is a place where humanity is freed from the self-imposed constraints of survival, it is freed to live, and also to die. Malmaxa is my dream of a better humanity than that which now savages our Earth.

    Soon, I’ll post a poem based on another type of dream. If you’re interested in reading it I recommend you subscribe to my blog using the option in the top right. Why? Because I usually refrain from posting my most passionate thoughts, and this poem is based on a dream of passion. Why do I so refrain? I certainly don’t refrain from passion, indeed passion rules my life. However, like everyone, I dread the harsh judgment of others. Perhaps, at its root, that is why people are so scared of remembering their dreams.  For, you see… In our dreams, is the only place we are ever truly free. True freedom, is scary.

  • Dream’s Embrace

    ~ Dream’s Embrace ~
    ~
    Midnight closes the gates of Awaken,
    wood nymphs ease from the shadows,
    in dance,
    a fleeting glimpse of hidden beauty,
    granted,
    as we step over the threshold,
    into dream’s embrace.
    Wood nymph,
    where are you?
    Hidden… till you answer
    slumber’s call.
    ~

    I recently found this draft, which mystified me as I have no recollection of writing it. From its date-stamp it may have been associated with “A Cyrstal Tear“, a short Fairy Tale I wrote about the same time.

  • Fears

    ~ Fears ~

    My greatest fear is injury,
    not an injury to me,
    but to others who I touch
    in deed, or word, it matters not
    nor whether the hurt is real,
    or simply the unheard song,
    of an unseen soul’s appeal,
    every injury, is real…
    even if it is only in a
    dream.

    The things that make me beam
    the little things, of which I dream
    the unseen sound of souls that sigh,
    the clear essence of two souls that cry
    tears that start their path as joy
    wend their way through guilt
    and by path’s end, are never shed.
    True love lives on, it is never
    dead.

    No worry that we can’t walk back,
    can’t turn about,
    can’t find that track,
    our footprints fade,
    they must,
    dark dreams crumble into dust,
    face our fears, face the front
    walk toward a future bright
    walk together, in each others
    light.

    Wonderful memories, illicit,
    delightful dreams, explicit,
    our memories may never fade
    though some cut deeper than any
    blade.

    The path we walk this way,
    would that holding hands we may,
    as friends fingertips do touch,
    jogging the others memory to breathe,
    that their hearts beneath such love
    don’t crush,
    where we are today…
    is a far better place, than
    yesterday.

    Rather than dwell in errors past,
    let us form a friendship,
    that will
    last.

    Eternity awaits, my dear,
    and yes, I will take you,
    there.
    ~

    I hope you enjoyed this poem. If you like lyrical literature, please try Beltamar’s War. I can promise you it is nothing like anything you’ve ever read, and I would really appreciate your support.

  • Links

    Another single verse, prompted by a tweet, that was in turn prompted by another tweet.


    Twitter’s 140 character limitation curtailed it, so below is the “real thing”.

    ~ Links ~

    The bond that binds,
    is the emptiness between,
    it can’t be touched,
    it can’t be seen,
    its distance is measured in dream,
    yet for all these things,
    that bond binds stronger than any steel.

    As with so many things in life, I’m left wondering about better.

  • The gods of what will not be…

    The gods of what will not be…
    ~
    The gods of what will not be,
    they, who who strip the dreams
    from those as me
    and thee.
    Though we gird our dreams in reality,
    the gods of what will not be
    wash our words with their false tears.
    A scorn of acid rain,
    on us they pour
    and strip our dreams till they’re bare,
    and plain.
    With a rumbled laugh they watch
    our fragile dreams shatter
    and laugh again,
    as you begin to believe
    your dreams don’t matter.
    ~
    A cloak of failed dreams
    upon their shoulders worn,
    striped of color by their scorn.
    Held tight within our hearts,
    our dreams unborn
    die,
    and turn,
    into bitter ash
    the final tendrils,
    of our earthy tale.
    False gods gorge, even as we rail
    against their unjust rule.
    Fearful we will arise,
    they cast their ash into our eye
    and bend our ear
    with their misbegotten lies,
    served as truth,
    intended to distract,
    and from our dreams,
    we turn, and go.
    ~
    Shoulders hunched,
    beneath debts untrue,
    which to our false deities
    allegedly,
    are due.
    One last time we turn,
    and glimpse
    what might have been,
    were we not blind subjects to
    the gods
    of what will not be.
    ~

    Thank you for reading, if you prefer poetry of a lighter nature please consider reading my poem on Friends.
    If you’d like to explore the inner working on my mind, then this might be the place to begin.

    PS. This particular poem has nothing to do with religion.