Dreams

I have had a reoccurring dream since I was a kid that I am able to fly by breathing in deeply, holding my breath, and simply swimming across the air...as if I were in water. I can never fly very high, 10 feet above the ground at most. In my dream, I've always been able to fly. It comes so natural to simply breathe in and float; to control my altitude by letting air out or breathing in more deeply. Though, any time I try to show anyone, I am unable to fly. It is silly because it is only a dream, but I look forward to the night that I can finally show someone I can fly. The night I can finally prove I am not a silly girl holding her breath and flapping her arms and never leaving the ground.

Startled myself awake from a dream this morning. The last line I remember hearing in the dream was "It was just like that Sylvester Stallone chick from 90210." See, this is why I stopped analyzing my dreams. What the fuck does that even mean, man?

At night theres a place that I go in my dreams where it's almost like real but somehow it seems.... Off just a bit with the shadows cast long some corners unseen and some pathways feel wrong as if it's created from bits of what's real only warped and twisted into what I need revealed.

Sweet dreams are made of these. Who am I to disagree?

now I lay me down to sleep four men through my dreams do creep

one my heart is guarding fiercely from afar

one gives evening solace friendly lust abed

one my heart has had and lost though never my skin touched

one knows and but mocks me his dreams darkest are

I think I might have a dreamwalker who visits me often. I should probably look into what it could be but honestly I've been a little lazy lately. He always finds me no matter what I dream. And he always seduces me. His hands are amazing, his grasp so firm. He has the most beautiful eyes I've ever come across and his body is purely heaven. But for the life of me I cannot give a description beyond that. Those amazing eyes - I do not know what color they are. I couldn't tell you what he wears. But I do recall the taste of his kiss. The feel of his lips on mine never goes away. Each day I long to find him, to hold him, to kiss him. Could he possibly be real?

I dream about pills every. Single. Night. Long, drawn out, suprisingly realistic episodes of calling a guy, going to get him, driving around Indy, and scoring are the most common. Other than that, I've robbed hospitals and old ladies in the back room of my subconcious.

My dreams have been becoming more and more real. They incorporate more and more people I know, and more places that are familiar. Last night, my dreams even included the shirts I was wearing yesterday. I don't remember the dream very well, except that it was me and all my favorite people sitting around laughing, and we were going to win at something, and I was happy and I didn't want to leave... but my roommates cellphone went off.

The line between reality and dreams is slipping, and I wish I could stay in the dreamworld. I have more control about what's happening there.

My dreams also keep trying to convince me I can breathe underwater... and some of these dreams are so incredibly real they feel like memory...

Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning....

... but maybe I just need to remember to breathe.

View Thinker #000000's profile

"My dreams also keep trying to convince me I can breathe underwater... and some of these dreams are so incredibly real they feel like memory..."

Ancestral memory, perhaps?

View Thinker #02584e's profile

I have no idea... most of them involve my old swim haunts like the lake or the YMCA pool... some of them are really dramatic like "oh shit I'm going to drown" but then turn out (like my most recent) "Oh wait, cool, I can breathe underwater, I guess my dreams were right!"

And there is one piece of my memory that I'm not sure is dream or actual fact. We were doing an excercise in the pool to see how long we could hold our breaths and I held mine too long and breathed in underwater. I remember being surprised at not drowning, and I surfaced and told my friends I could breathe underwater, but none of them believed me. It was weird...

Part of me wants to test it... but the other part says "that's stupid, you'll just drown dumbass."

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alone, walking down the side of the highway. oncoming traffic. in my dream he is not how he was but how he is now. his voice, familiar, slurring, laughing, not alone. in my dreams he doesn't do what i know he'd do in waking life. instead we talk, laugh, catch up. hung up, still hung up. he asks. i say i'd take him back in a heart beat. dreaming about old love is stupid. dreaming about old love is pointless. i woke up halfway disappointed. nope, he still hates me.

I had a sex dream last night. There were two different stories. One of them involved me. The other one didn't. It was just really weird. By the end of the story I ended up giving head to this guy I barely even talk to.

I don't really have a problem with this dream. It's just that I've never had a dream about sex before. I know it's natural, but it just appeared out of no where.

The only issue was that I woke up horny. It's kind of laughable really. I guess it's good I'm not a guy.

as the sun rose its light poured across the landscape, liquid gold staining all in its path, the grass blooming into flowers of every conceivable and inconceivable color, except in one long row suitable for walking. his eyes swept up along the path which twisted and vanished amongst hills. trees stood in groves here and there, and a pond lay teeming with life. the pond lay before him, a bridge leading out onto an island, the island dotted with bushes. the water was clear, the bottom nonexistent, fish darting back and forth, up and down, appearing as quickly as they vanished. he walked across the bridge to see what there was. a key, hidden, beneath a rock; it was the key he'd come here to find, and now that he had it he could unlock the door of the cottage he was standing in front of. from inside the pond was a lake, lapping at the foundation, wearing the base of his happiness away molecule by molecule. one day there would be nothing left. he stood in the kitchen and looked, and outside the window was nothing but water. he turned right and looked, and outside the window was nothing but water. he turned around and looked, and the bedroom door called his name, soft icelandic melodies infusing the building with the ethereal quality it deserved, deservedly demanded. his name was called again, a voice given breath by roses, as solid as smoke, as forgiving as dew. into its arms he went, and they melted together until he could not tell where they were different, he could not remember they had been separate, he did not care what the future held. in the arms of solace's avatar he lay, and her tears washed away his sins, and his tears washed away her pain, and as the night rolled in the last curtain was drawn across the last window, the universe condensed to four walls, a ceiling, a bed and a promise. as the lights dimmed further even these simple things fell away, leaving an eternity of black to surround the two halves of one soul, wrapped around itself, twisting and weaving through the void, a beacon, a purity, a truth only glimpseable in fragmented perversions by eyes unblinded by love.

Recently, I've been having the kind of dreams that are so horrible you make yourself go back to sleep hoping that you will dream a resolution.

It's like that feeling when you watch a horror movie, and it's terrifying, and you want to turn it off, but you know that it will kill you inside to not know how the story ends. And there is always a happy ending. Well, almost always.

It's the kind of dream that makes you ignore your bladder, because you get up and THEN come back to bed and try to sleep, you might not continue the dream where you left off.

It's terrible.

And the worst part is, I can't even remember what is so horrifying.

View Thinker #97172b's profile

i almost prefer horrifying dreams. they give me a reason to stay awake. when the dreams are preferable to waking life you not only sleep all day but stop caring about what happens here, what you do, what is possible.

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opening act of the book that refuses to be born

  1. Grey. Trees bent overhead, leaning inwards, branches frosted into a stained-glass ceiling. Light came from somewhere, glistening off the ice and dispersing into the fog, robbing the hibernating world of what little color may have remained. No color; no white, no black. Just varying shades of grey, set against each other, the edges refusing to come into focus no matter how long he looked, or how close. He walked through this tunnel of haze, thoughts coming and going as steadily, as vaguely, as present yet irrelevant as each individual tree - Where was he going? Where was he coming from? Where was he? - discarded, then, without answers, other than the obvious - going forward, coming from the past, currently here and now. As vague as his position was, he took comfort in his rationale, assuring himself that the answers would appear when they were needed. The trees began growing sparser, or the fog thicker, and he felt the cloak of mist settle closer about his shoulders. The notion that he had been here before, despite the total lack of landmarks, began to creep slowly into his mind, only to be nudged aside and gently forgotten as a voice began echoing through the wind. "" He strained to hear even as something in the back of his mind seemed to stir, wings fluttering in a mostly ignored terror. "?" There was a pressure on his shoulder, and he opened his mouth to call out, "Who's there?" Instead, an unintelligible string of vowels reverberated through his surroundings wrapped in a voice that he half-recognized as his own. "...an...way...on..."; As the grey began to give way to black, he was left with the vague sense of having forgotten something, but for that eternal moment, there was no time; no past, no future, nothing to remember. The grey was entirely gone, replaced by a wall of black, behind which the voice grew in clarity. "Come on... I know it's hard..." He floated, resisting, lingering in eternity.

i have consistantly (2 or 3 times a week...consistant enough) over the past 2 month or so had the same, or very similar dreams. ive also had many lucid dreams, or parts of them are lucid...

one dream i have fairly often...im wandering around a very misty park lined with trees and grass but sloping up into a large mound...the park is surrounded by europeanesque buildings...and the mound has nothing but what appears to be an old fashioned schoolhouse...maybe a church, but even when lucid dreaming ive never been able to reach it without waking myself... theres no one in the dream except a young child on a bicycle who doesnt seem able to talk...and sometimes isnt there at all...

i also have had a fairly long run off and on of dreams where i run from everything from hundreds of tornadoes and seeminly endless lavaflows...to the girl i have a certain fondness of (though she is currently out of reach and any advances)...

these related, yet very unrelated dreams are begining to trouble me, and ive been told ive started talking in my sleep...

i dont know whats wrong with me, i dont eat too badly, i exercise fairly often, i occasionally get out, i have...enough friends, though i am somewhat depressed with my personal life and previously stated girl... overall, things arnt bad though, whats wrong with me?

I had a very interesting dream the other night. I was sitting in a very dim room with brightly colored walls and interesting interior design aspects such as mushroom- and flower-shaped chairs with random pillows the size of couches on the floor. Needless to say, it was a large room. I was smoking hookah with a friend, it was a sort of raspberry-apple flavor I recall. He and I were discussing various aspects of anarchy and the various movements in the early 1900s by immigrants and so forth. Then we just started laughing and he threw "fairie dust" at me. It was just a bunch of sparkles but they filled the room with butterflies that had a sort of strange metallic sheen to them. The light reflected around the room made it really interesting. Then that was it....

Last night I didn't really sleep. I dozed deeply, and had some fucked up dreams. Dream one, I dreamed that we had cut a third of the topsheet off, when in reality Owen was just hogging it.

Dream two, I'm dreaming that I'm Sarah Silverman dreaming, and she wakes up because she shot herself in her sleep. She's sleeping on one of those tiny stumpy display beds from higher end retail stores. The staff comes back and takes care of her. There was a bloody babaydoll against wall.

WTF I know.

I almost never remember my dreams. At best, one a year i'll remember by the time I wake up... if i'm lucky.

As a writer i'd find my own subconscious storytelling ability completely fascinating, but it escapes me yet.

Last night I had an odd dream. In this dream I was standing in Muncie, walking about on some sort of adventure with my friends. Then I looked at them and shook my head and started running....Then I was running through circle center in Indianapolis, then I was running through my home town and I just kept running. Then I was in a wheat field when I passed a friend of mine who stared at me but didn't do anything. Lastly I was at the edge of a lake, on top of a cliff and I jumped in and started swimming. All the while, everything around me was telling me to stop running, to just stop running...I never stopped

View Thinker #9ce831's profile

Maybe it means you're ready to move on to a new stage of your life.... and you're afraid to stop

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I had a dream last night that we were sitting together, outside as always. Once again you had your arms wrapped around me and I was safe for the shortest amount of time. Then, the shadows wrapped around us and we turned into the deepest shades of blue and purple and black. Before I knew it, we were spiraling into nothingness but it didn't matter because we were together. I was safe and we were together.... if only he knew

There's this one strand of dreams that comes up almost every night. In this dream I have a few piles of papers and several large, thick text book-style books. I have my black laptop in my lap and am wearing my glasses, long hair barely contained by a braid. My pale skin in stark contrast with the dark red-brown of my hair. I've placed my pencil in my mouth just between my lips as I scratch my head before typing some more. I seem to be looking down at a pad of paper placed neatly beside me, referencing the notes I've already scribbled down. Then I'll look back at the computer and stretch and yawn before looking down again. Beside me is a sleeping man, but I can never really make out who he is, I just know it's a he and that he is sleeping. At one point in the dream I always look at him and smile softly, reaching over one hand to brush his hair out of his face, but I never see his face. It is an odd dream but I don't feel alone in it.

I had a dream about a friend of mine from my old school last night. It scared me a litte. Not because it was a nightmare or anything but because of what happened. Him and I have never and probabaly never will be romantically involved. We weren't in the dream either but I could tell that we both really wanted to be. I don't know why I had this ddream but, I'm scared because it made me really happy.

I dreamed I died a few nights ago. I was at a doctor's office with Owen, and the doc said "you've got (illness in dreamwords), you'll die the day after tomorrow." I remember snuggling with Owen, and going to sleep. I woke up at my dad's house and ran into his room, crying. "Daddy, I don't want to die, please help me." "I can't do anything for you, sweetie. Calm down and enjoy every breath."

I ended up living for a week, knowing each day I could die at any time. It was a disease where I just dropped dead, no warning. And I remember dying. I was on the couch with Owen, talking to my Dad on the phone. I lost my grip on the phone and it fell to the floor. I slumped into Owen, seeing in his face immediate terrible realization. He hugged me tight, our tears mixing up on our touching faces. Things were going dark, I couldn't move. I said "I love you...I'm sorry... Tell my family I love them...Oh, Owen..." I woke up and started bawling, shaking Owen awake and hugging the crap out of him.

I don't ever remember being so happy to be alive.

I'm crying again. I don't worry about death daily, but apparently I still fear it...

the eyes close the hazel sinks behind the lids the lashes gaurd the mind. the future and the horror past lurk and jump, in unconscious free no fear no tears -oh wait i lied the world inside the brain the memories twine with thought and fiction the pillowed axis rolls around. the voice comes through the pearls of teeth as ears perk up abound. dream the hope, dream the fear while the others sit and hear. open the eyes, the green sparks in the choclate, she knows and will not tell.

The serenity of the realm of dreams is an interesting one to contemplate. The way your mind functions when you're unconscious seems distinctly different from your conscious mind. Dreams can take the form of many things, or allow you to take the form of many diffent things. And so, as I sit here, preparing myself to go to sleep, I ponder about what the dream world is about to give to me. Perhaps it shall open up the path of posibility such that I may pass over the mountains of curiosity towards the sea of enlightement that feeds into the channels of knowledge to the ocean of curiosity and land me far off in the world of tranquility. Or shall my dreams instead lead me to the dark realm of terrors and frights that are only too fitting for one such as I. Well, wherever it is I'm headed right now, i'll be asleep. Good night all

Awake My back itches I reach around to scratch it. I'm relived until I realized. My arm went through the bed. My world fell apart. I awoke.

I don't find rest and wonder in dreams. I have to work for them. I hate to sleep but I have to.

Terry Pratchett's character, Reacher Gilt, says that money is a dream, and that one who wakes from that dream can swim in a sea of it.

There is a meta-conciousness, wherin one sees not just the thing but the trick of semantics that makes the thing what it is. We speak in economics of the market, but there is no such beast, just as there is no money. There are, however, a lot of buyers and sellers whose collective actions comprise an entity which we call the market, just as there are little pieces of paper which we agree possess a value and are just as good to hold as equivalently valued goods.

What those who would regulate the internet do not realise is that there is no internet, only the users of the internet, and it is their collective actions that produce the dream of the internet- the cables are meaningless bits of wires. The phone lines, coaxial cables, and fibreoptics are dead things given meaning by the information sent through them, the bus is not the computer.