Archive for dreams

Dreamtime Pillow

Posted in Mystical Experience, Unknown with tags , , , , , , , on May 26, 2012 by javedbabar

Alli’s allergies were getting worse. Her doctor gave her many tests but couldn’t identify anything specific. He said it was GHD: General Hypersensitivity Disorder, and gave her a long list of “precautions against allergens”.

She cut all nuts and grains from her diet, avoided dogs, cats, and horses, hoovered her room daily, used mattress, duvet, and pillow protectors, and changed her linens twice-weekly. No peanut butter or bread was torture initially, and not stroking her friend’s pets made her sad, but after a while they became habitual. None of these “precautions against allergens” really seemed to work though. They had only marginal effects. Alli faced the fact that she would be puffy-eyed, sore-throated, blocked-nosed, scratchy-skinned, and always sneezing for the rest of her life, or at least till she became an adult. Her doctor said that many allergies disappeared when you were eighteen.

One day she saw an online ad for a special pillow. The Dreamtime Pillow was made of a unique material containing anti-allergens. Its memory foam adapted to your heat and weight, and was organic, fair-trade, local, and made by certified professionals, all over eighteen years of age. There was a double-money-back guarantee, meaning that if it didn’t help you sleep more soundly, they would give you twice your money back. Alli used her mom’s credit card to order one immediately, and the Dreamtime Pillow arrived the next day.

There were clear instructions not to cover the pillow, not even with a pillowcase. For maximum effectiveness, you should sleep with it touching your head. It was more a cushion than a full size pillow, so Alli put her usual pillow beneath it to avoid straining her neck. She remembered settling in to sleep, and then whoom! waking up the next morning. There was no dozing off, or easing out of slumber; she had fallen like a log and slept right through.

“Good morning, love,” said her mom. “How was your new pillow?”

“I don’t know,” said Alli, rubbing her eyes out of habit rather than need.

“I slept really well, and my nose and throat seem better, but…”

“But what darling? Did you have a bad dream?”

“That’s what feels strange, mum.” Alli stretched towards her for a hug. “I didn’t have any dreams. I always have dreams and remember them when I wake up, and sometimes change them while I’m still dozing. But I don’t remember anything at all this morning. I feel kind of empty.”

Her mom said, “That’s good though, isn’t it love? You usually feel bloated, sort of over-full, and now you feel empty. Maybe that pillow is helping your allergies.”

Alli decided to stick with the pillow. She used it all week and slept better than ever, but the feeling of emptiness remained. Where had her dreams gone?”

Alli woke one morning with her head fatter than ever. Her eyes wept, throat itched, nose ran, skin crawled, and she began sneezing immediately. Her allergies were really bad. Wasn’t her new pillow working anymore? Wait a minute, where was her new pillow? She saw that it was gone.

Allis’ mom was really angry with her. “I know it made you feel strange, but you shouldn’t have thrown it away. We could have got double our money back. That’s the last time you buy something on my card.”

Her mom wouldn’t believe that the pillow had disappeared. Alli decided to investigate the matter herself. She skipped school and took a bus to the City, and went to the pillow company’s store. Maybe they gave refunds for missing pillows. “I’ve come about the Dreamtime Pillow,” she said to the salesman.

“Ah! We have the perfect pillow for you Miss, just in. It’s pre-filled with dreams. All yours for the taking. But before buying it, why don’t you test this empty one. That’s right, just close your eyes…”

Alli was asleep immediately. She didn’t see the salesman press a red button beneath his desk, alerting the Dream Lab at the back of the store. They would be delighted to have a dream-subject personally available. The Returns Dept – whose job it was to retrieve dream-filled pillows at night – were always short on customer information.

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Cosmic Pillar

Posted in Classic Sci-Fi, Mystical Experience, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , , , on April 4, 2012 by javedbabar

I awoke at 6am on January the first with my mind filled by the vision of a cosmic pillar. It was more a shape than an object, with dimensions that were incomprehensible. It was both see-through and substantial, though how that could be I can’t say. It arose from somewhere beneath me to somewhere high above, the space around it filled with fireworks exploding with brilliance of every kind. There were crimson flowers, old gold whirls, and neon green stars, set with bright blue puffs and lilac trails, plus tangerine flashes and clouds of silver sparkles. The darkness was forgotten, overwhelmed by teeming lights.

The pillar seemed a luminous tree trunk, rising out of some unknown earth, and into a boundless sky; the fireworks great bunches of bright foliage, filling the heavens. This tree of light shone in the night, with my soul set as a lamp upon it. It was the Tree of Life in the midst of all three worlds – memory, presence, and fantasy – making communication between them possible. It was nourishing and sheltering, inexhaustibly fertilizing, representing both evergreen, everlasting life, and deciduous regeneration. All roots fused and rose through the trunk, their journey ending as fat fruits with a mystical seeds of potential.

This ethereal vision also had a physical manifestation. My huge erection wouldn’t go down. It was a sign of a potent year to come. Full of potential.

I may as well make use of what I’ve got, so called my occasional girlfriend Kitty, who was always in the mood for some action. Afterwards she said, “Wow, what’s come over you babe? I won’t be able to sit down for a week. Everyone will think I’ve been herding cattle. Have you been eating Superfoods? Or taking Superpills? Does it ever go down?”

I told her I didn’t know, but wanted to make good use of my blessing. “Well I’m out for the rest of this week, babe. You better find yourself another willing volunteer.” This was easier said than done. Who do you call on such an occasion? Then came divine inspiration. I called “Hot Rod” Escort Agency, who asked me what I’d be willing to do, and I said, “Everything”. I quickly became their most popular escort – always available, and never disappointing.

One of the ladies I serviced took me on as her gardener. She claimed it was a way of keeping me busy between our sessions, and had nothing to do with Lady Chatterley’s Lover. I grew to like my second profession involving fertility and planting seed. She had a “big job” for me, she said: planting a white oak tree in her rear garden. Using a buddy’s excavator I dug a hole and placed the tree in the ground carefully. At night it held a ghostly glow, with a million stars shining through its yet-bare branches, as if related to the heavenly tree of my vision.

My employer recommended my services to her friends. One was a very adventurous lady, especially in the area of landscaping. She wanted her garden to have the feel of an English village, so I suggested installing a maypole in the centre of her lawn. We celebrated Mayday with twenty handsome youths and twenty fair maidens drinking country cider, and clutching bright ribbons, weaved in between each other, losing our grips and our inhibitions, right there and then, not even making it to the woods.

My English village design was noticed by a City firm. They called me in for a meeting. “We love the thrusting nature of your work,” said the lead architect, licking her lips. “Its raw energy. We would like you to help us design a skyscraper.”

“But I don’t know anything about designing buildings,” I said.

“You’re a versatile guy, I’ve heard,” she said, winking. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You start Saturday at my home office.”

I told her that a building should really mean something. Imagine it as the Centre of the World. Show everything whirling around it. When Thrust Tower was completed, its metallic swirling design of caused a sensation. “This represents our new nation,” said the President on his visit. “Something to which we can all aspire.” He was photographed with me so many times that people began to associate my name with the highest public office. I thought why not aspire to that? A photograph of my pointing skyward became iconic. I used it on my campaign poster, and won the election.

One of my main achievements in office was doubling funding for scientific research, much of which went to our under-resourced military. It was a proud day indeed watching the Thrust One missile shoot out of its silo into the sky, blazing fire behind.

What should be my next achievement? To boldly go? Yes of course! I doubled funding for the space program. Within three months we had developed the world’s most powerful rocket, ready for launch. My announcement on launch day stunned the nation – that I would lead by example. I would head the mission, and be the only one in the shuttle entering the Black Hole. The first man ever to do so.

Via the external monitors I saw my slim silver pillar arise into the sky, surrounded by clouds of glowing fire. And some days after, I left the main craft and went beyond the Event Horizon, and as predicted by Dr. Einstein, entered the realm of curved time-space. In the Dreamtime I entered, each day lived is the First Day, a world of pure imagination. I awoke at 6am on January the first with my mind filled by the vision of a cosmic pillar.

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Starsailor

Posted in Alternative Energy, Global Travel, Unknown, World Myths with tags , , , , , on March 12, 2012 by javedbabar

It was unusual to see one on an inland lake. Sapphire thought that large sailing ships only ploughed the high seas. There it was though – what looked like a floating mansion with a fabulous clothes line of gleaming whites, gliding along the emerald waters, with mountains and forests behind. How did it get here, she wondered? Was it possible to sail all the way from the ocean, along the Glaser River, through Morrison Lake, then via smaller rivers, all the way to Lucerne?

Her grandma had first shown her the lakes. When life at home became unbearable – her parents fighting non-stop, and Sapphire crying non-stop – her grandma said, “Let me take you to a beautiful place where everything will be better.”

Sapphire said, “Where are we going, grandma? Are we going to India?” She’d heard her mother talking about living there. That was the main thing her parents argued about.

“No child. We’re going to the Magic Lakes. I discovered them when I was your age. I’d swim and fish there. You’ll like them.”

After her parents parted company, Sapphire travelled with her mother and saw many beautiful places – the temples of Varanasi, the churches of Jerusalem, the Oracle of Delphi, Angkor Wat, Borobudur, and Giza – but none of them were home. They were others people’s homes. Her grandma died the year after they visited the Magic Lakes, and Sapphire hadn’t returned there for ten years now. But this year she felt lost in life – stuck in a dead end job, with a fractured relationship, a poor body image, and negative mindset. She felt drawn to the Lakes.

There were so many lakes there – some round, some long; some green, some black; some transparent, and some thick with muddy clouds, seeming thunderous skies upturned. She traversed them endlessly in her kayak.

There was a bustle of activity around the large sailing ship. Teams of swarthy sailors – were they Goan? Maybe Filipino? – unloaded cloth-covered boxes manually. The operation seemed antique. Sapphire paddled across the lake towards the sailing ship.

Her paddle was quickly pulled from her grasp. She screamed in shock. A sailor was swimming beside her. He steadied her boat, clutching her paddle. She’d been ambushed.

“Please come with me,” he said, clearly Goan.

“Why should I?” Sapphire said fiercely. “Leave me alone, or I’ll scream.”

“You already did,” he said, smiling. “But don’t worry; I won’t force you to come. I am only delivering a message from the Captain. She invites you to join her for tea.”

“She?” said Sapphire. “Your Captain is a woman?” She wondered why she was so surprised by this.

“Yes, she is,” said the sailor. “And a truly great Captain too. She has taken our ship to places we never imagined.” He beamed at Sapphire, his white, white teeth dazzling. “Will you accept her invitation?”

“If I say no, will you give my paddle back?”

“Immediately,” said the Goan.

“In that case please give me my paddle.” The Goan’s smile declined, and he passed back her paddle. “Now swim ahead,” said Sapphire, “and I will follow you.” His smile returned.

It was a beautiful ship with an elegant puzzle of ropes and sails. The three main masts had five square-sails each, and there was an array of long triangular sails – seeming washed kites – attached to the tusk-like mast at the front – was that the prow? Further triangular sails stretched taut between the masts. Why so many? What were they all for? A flag flew atop the main mast – royal blue with a golden sun, and a shape within, which was hard to indentify whilst limp.

“Welcome aboard sailor!” someone called down from the rear top deck – the stern? It was a strong female voice, maybe Anglo-Indian. Sapphire saw a sturdy, dark-skinned, dark-haired woman in her fifties – surely the Captain. “Thank you for accepting my invitation. Shall we?” she indicated for Sapphire to enter some ornate double-doors. Well I’m here now, she thought, so may as well.

The inside of the ship was beautifully crafted. There was teak panelling and mirrors, and ornate lamps of exotic designs, featuring spiders and peacocks. The captain led her to a spacious room with three sides of stained glass glowing. She said, “We were wondering who was watching our operation. I sent Gonzales out to investigate. He took more direct action than anticipated, but here you are.” She nodded warmly. “We’ve got a bit of cleaning to do – those barnacles really build up on the bottom, and algae accumulate. That slows us down. We need to lose some cargo too. Reduce weight to lessen water displacement. We’re near maximum deadweight tonnage. We’ll only carry high value items from now on.”

“But where are you going?” said Sapphire. “You haven’t told me.”

“You must join the crew if you want to know that, sailor. All I can say is that throughout history, ships have been used by men for many things – fishing, commercial, and military purposes; to transport people, to entertain them, to spread technology; to colonize and enslave; to spread new crops leading to our world’s crazy population growth, and promoting energy-intensive economies. Here’s our chance to make a difference.”

“I don’t understand. Where are you going?”

“Have you read Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn?” Sapphire nodded. “We follow the advice of the great sailor-philosopher, Mark Twain.” The captain closed her eyes and recited, “‘So throw off the bowlines, sail away from safe harbour. Catch the trade wind in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.’ To this I add ‘change’.”

“Change what?” said Sapphire.

“Change everything! We sail great rivers, lakes, and seas, following our dreams. Taking ideas everywhere. We’re always looking for good crew members. Will you join us?”

Sapphire felt that she had nothing to lose, and said, “Aye-Aye Captain! When do we sail?”

“As soon as you salute our flag,” said the Captain, indicating for Sapphire to go above board. The royal blue flag was now fluttering. Within its golden sun was the shape of a little girl.

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Cracked Light

Posted in Sacred Geometry, Unknown with tags , , , , on January 15, 2012 by javedbabar

Andrea bought an antique lamp with rich green glass and brass fittings. It was covered in hairline cracks, but not bad for five bucks, and she had the perfect place to put it.

It was the fourth garage sale she’d visited that morning. It seemed that everyone was giving up, splitting up, selling up, or moving up. Maybe the people buying the stuff would soon be following them. She knew how hard it was to make your life work in this crazy modern world. With so many pressures, cracks were sure to show. The question was how to fix them – if that was possible – otherwise – as was generally the case – how to ignore them, until everything fell apart.

Andrea was very happy with her lamp, but the bargain price began to bother her. Surely it was worth more than that? I guess it didn’t fit someone’s new home, she thought. Or maybe it didn’t fit into someone’s new home – if their place was a microloft. A once proud ornament was now excess baggage.

The lamp looked perfect on the dark polished dresser, adjacent to the end of her bed. The green glass wasn’t too flashy, and the brass cast a tingle across the wood. It would be lovely to look at in the mornings, she thought.

“I don’t like it,” said her boyfriend Brian. He came by twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Today was Saturday.

“Why not?” said Andrea, surprised. She hadn’t wanted his opinion.

“It’s not the lamp itself,” he said, looking at it squarely. “It just shouldn’t be there. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Don’t start your feng shui, honey. Don’t you know that I’ve got inner feng shui? It’s called a sense of style, and I say that lamp is a doll.”

“I’m not disagreeing. It’s a handsome lamp. My grandmother had a similar one with red glass. But I don’t like it there.”

“Well where should I put it?” said Andrea.

“Downstairs somewhere. It’s not an upstairs lamp.”

“You didn’t like the mirror there either, honey.” She had removed it last week from above the dresser. “You said it was distracting. So I got a lamp. Now you don’t like that…”

“I’m sorry. Just leave it there.”

After making love, she couldn’t sleep. Why didn’t he like the mirror there? He had liked it there before. He said it was fun to catch glimpses of themselves loving; like soft porn; steamy, not kinky. But then suddenly he didn’t like it. And the lamp; she had imagined sleeping together in its ancient glow; it could have been exotic. But he hated it.

She went to the bathroom and on the way back, stopped by the lamp. She switched it on, and stood nearby. The glass was glowing, but also reflecting. The light was brighter at the cracks – almost golden – and beneath the glass, subdued. Andrea left the lamp on and went back to bed. Brian could switch it off.

She had fragments of dreams; numerous snatches; maybe connected.

Andrea saw herself with Brian, the first time they’d stepped out together. She had noticed him shelving books at the library, and had suddenly become the world’s greatest borrower of sci-fi books. After a week of stamping dates, he’d asked her out on one. She had worn a green, raw silk dress with golden shoes, which had taken his breath away. But then she imagined herself many years later, definitely fatter, maybe bitter, and possibly warty; lumpy, Size 20, and childless. It could happen to anyone.

Andrea saw Brian like he was at the library, with that nerdy smile that brightened his eyes, and then his whole face; almost a living emoticon. He liked time to himself, and said they shouldn’t rush things; she guessed that was ok for now. But then she imagined him in the future as a grumpy loner, always on his computer, looking at God knows what, rather than praising and cherishing her. Mostly ignoring her. It could become a horrible relationship.

She saw everyone she knew together – all laughing, jumping, shaking their shoulders, dancing at her parent’s Christmas party. They were celebrating their shared humanity, and eternal brother-and-sisterhood. But she saw herself lost among this hapless crowd, jostled and crushed. Falling faint, and being trampled underfoot.

She had to stop thinking like this – cracking her own cherished memories. She wondered if she would ever find wholeness.

She finally reached for a brighter light. She saw herself serene like she was after yoga. Sitting on a mountaintop, cross-legged, watching the sun rising. A hundred seagulls circling, sun glinting off their feathers, making thick golden. The sun flashed before her, for her. It was the star at the centre of the solar system, the brightest object visible in the sky, earths’ primary source of energy, sending endless streams of charged life outward. Complete and eternal. In comparison, this lamp was old and cracked; faded; looking backward.

Brian was right. It had to go. When he awoke, Andrea had moved the antique lamp downstairs. “Good morning, honey,” she said. “Will you help me move the bed?”

“Huh? Where to?”

“It’s facing the wall. I know it’s a squeeze, but let’s make it face the window. I want to see the sun.”

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