How do I know which dreams to share?

Granted, there are some littered with a magnification of common symbols, current events and characters that invite rational deconstructing. But these are rarely the ones that make it beyond the pages of my dream journal.

Instead, I wait.

If I am in a place of deeper observation and heart centeredness in my waking state, I am less controlled by sensory impressions and therefore in a place of deeper observation in my dream state.

Lucid living enhances lucid dreaming.

With all that is currently transpiring , I have been powerfully mesmerized into the beliefs of world materiality and events that feed dreams to leave vivid, unsettling imagery lingering for days.

But then there are those dreams that lend to a different sort of experience and its significance will be intuitively felt soon after awakening as they guide my stumbling morning feet. They demand that I surrender to trying to understand the enormous mystery that hides in the hinterland of my mind.

The Dream

A dark skinned man lies naked on his side. Blue eyes stare unblinking into the distance. The colour a stark contrast to the opaque blackness of his skin. It’s as if the very brush that painted the charcoal depth of the void was used to coat his skin.

He wears a voluptuous scent of otherness and has rows of swollen udders that flop to the ground under the weight of the elixir within.

Waves of tiny humans clamber towards the leaking nipples as he lay as motionless as a mountain. They are pink skinned, almost translucent and Hungry. They are identical in appearance as if they are shards of the same soul although some appear to be faded copies of some long forgotten original.

Original?

Original Sin.

The first to reach his nipples are the clearer, stronger ones who bustle and barge their way through the sea of hungry mouths. The number of hungry mouths far outweigh the amount of nipples and the weak and frail are left lingering behind.

The ravenous, violent sucking of the dominant beings activate the flow and milk gushes beyond their mouth, trickling to rivers at their feet. Their mouths clasp upon him as milk oozes bountifully from his bosom. Many fall to their knees to receive what they can as they lap up traces of others greed.

I wonder what it is he is thinking as his eyes as clear as the sky in a body as dark as the night, focus intently, somewhat disconnected from the suckling mayhem at his teets.

 He lays there, unflinching.

Without falling into trance, without closing his eyes, without shutting his ears or folding his legs like a yogi…he keeps his awareness… and the milk continues to flow.

The dream releases me and I wake as dawn arrives in a smudge of fog leaving me to feel rather empty, undernourished and disenchanted by the white bone of truth.

Too many take too much.