Posts Tagged With: dream

You Don’t Get to Choose

You Don’t Get to Choose

I had a dream last night. Yeah, yeah… those of you who know me know I dream all the time, so I visualize you all right now rolling your eyes, saying, “what’s the big deal?”  The big deal is the way this dream felt.  It’s hard to describe, but it’s like that feeling you get sometimes where your subconscious is screaming at you, “pay attention, this is important!” So, that’s what I’m trying to do, pay attention because this dream feels extremely important.

My dream, as with most of my dreams over the past year, starred Emi (short for Exotic Man of my Imagination) as he climbed upon the back of a tall, white thoroughbred in the middle of a dark, gloomy, wooded area.  Everything was outlined in silver moonlight, making the majestic white coat of the horse practically glow.  While she was white, her mane and tail were pitch black.  Emi’s beautiful brown eyes missed nothing.  He saw every motion of every creeping thing in the woods, yet he didn’t react to his surroundings, keeping his temperament in a calm, collected, controlled state.  He was dressed in a pair of cargo pants, a white buttoned shirt with rolled sleeves, and brown boots.  Not cowboy boots, more like military or the hiking kind.

Emi climbed onto the back of the horse, and then looked down at something he wore on his wrist.  It wasn’t a watch, but perhaps a smartphone like a watch. I’m not sure, but whatever it was, I got the sense it was what prompted his urgency to get somewhere.  He tightened his grip on the reins and gave the mare a swift kick in the side.

She didn’t move.

He kicked her again, snapped the reins, but the mare still refused to budge.

Emi jumped down from the horse, pulled a pistol from his side holster and pointed it right at the horse’s head.  The mare still didn’t move.  She just stood there, her big eyes unblinking, staring back at him.  He flipped the safety of the gun with his thumb as he stared down the sight aimed right between the horses eyes.  His index finger rested on the side of the trigger, itching to move into place to take the shot.

There was something in the horse’s eyes, a sadness, a deepness, a mystery that caught Emi’s attention.  A knowing feeling washed over him.  In that moment he knew the horse wanted him to pull the trigger, to end her sadness, to release her from her pain.  She knew he was strong enough to do it.  He knew what she wanted, and why.  I, the dreamer, don’t even know why. But Emi did, and he wouldn’t do it.

Emi sighed.  Flipped the safety back with his thumb and holstered his pistol.  He was angry, yet filled with relief at the same time.  He pointed to the horse and said to her in a loud voice, not yelling, but one filled with all authority and command, “You do not get to choose.”

The horse lowered her head.  A small trickle of silver tears spilled from her eyes.  Emi mounted her once again.  This time when he tightened the reins and gave her a swift kick in the side, she moved.  Together, in rhythm, they galloped off into the dark wood toward where Emi needed to go.  Even as the dreamer, I have no idea where it was he needed to be, only that there was an urgency for him to get there.

I woke with such a sense of compassion, connection, and confusion.  I know this dream means something, but I can’t see it.  Please don’t send me any ‘interpretations’ you might have, because I don’t want them to interfere.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream this intense, this detailed, this …I don’t know how to explain the overwhelming sensation.  I don’t know what it means, I only know it feels important.  If I’m meant to know, I will eventually discover it.  Perhaps I just need to eat something because I also feel like I’m starving.

Till next time,

~The Weird Dreamer

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Good Morning, World – 04/30/2014 – Aftermath


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Perfect Dream

Perfect Dream


Have you ever dreamed the perfect dream to only have it turn into a nightmare?  I don’t mean a wet dream, though those can be quite nice, I’m talking about a dream so perfect – a perfect day, a perfect love, with perfect weather, in a perfect location, experiencing perfect emotions, perfect peace; happiness; just sincere happiness; nothing extravagant, simply small, but so full of love?

I had one of those dreams last night.  I was walking down a trail, someone was holding my hand, that’s all I remember is the hands; our fingers entwined.  I heard laughter. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or his.  We were just walking.  The sun shone down on us, the wind was cool and soft.  Everything was green, there was so much green.  But, it wasn’t the scenery that made it a perfect dream.  I don’t even know if it was the company, but it was the feeling.

I didn’t feel scared. I didn’t feel alone.  I didn’t feel rejected.  I felt complete.  I felt content. I felt happy.  I felt at ease.  I trusted who I walked beside.  I was happy with who I was.  I felt loved – completely loved. I just knew – I KNEW that I’d never be alone, that I was whole, and that no matter what happened in the world, I was going to be okay.

Then I woke.

I tried so hard to go back to sleep. For that dream, I’d choose never to wake. What hurts most is knowing it is all just a dream. I’m left wondering why I can’t have that in my life right now.  It seems I live from one trial to the next.  While I have moments between, during, before, and after each trial, each testing,  it doesn’t seem like my life ever clicks to where I have a moment’s rest.

I’m so tired.  I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of struggling. I’m tired fighting. I’m tired of losing. I’m tired of starting over. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of being rejected. I’m tired of feeling helpless. I’m tired of surviving. I’m tired of having to climb out, climb up and climb over.  Can’t I stand on top for a moment? I’m sure it’s just my imagination that there are people out there in this world with an easy, happy life – devoid of disaster, tragedy and chaos.  I’m sure I torture myself with wanting something that doesn’t exist.

When we fight for something, we fight for a specific outcome.  I’m pretty strong most days, keeping purpose in front of me, encouraging myself forward, pushing myself with the strength to put one foot in front of the other.  But, there are some days when I’m not strong at all and I lose sight of that hope,  and I don’t remember what I’m fighting for.

But what choice do I have?  I’m still here. I’m still breathing.  My heart still beats. It doesn’t just stop, no matter how much I want it to just stop.  I can try to numb it with alcohol, but that won’t do anything to change the situation –except only to make it worse.  I can try to mask it in a vain relationship, but like the alcohol, it’ll only lead to something worse.  I’ve tried to exercise it away, meditate through it, and vanquish it with prayer – but it’s still there. I still wake up every morning.  My prayers go unanswered. My thoughts torture me. My body constantly aches from the extreme physical measures I put it through.

I’m split in two.  There are two parts of my soul, separated, that keep me from being whole.  I feel one part shutting down more and more every day.  There’s the emotional me – and the practical me.  My practical side is a work-a-holic who thrives in work. I’m most accepted when I work.  I’m valued most for what I can do for others, not simply for who I am. That’s great for business – and business is getting better, but the emotional side of me suffers.

I don’t know how to let that part of me be free.  I’ve kept her hid for so long trying to protect her, that putting her back in her box is easy… way too easy. Every day it gets harder to try and balance the two, to make room for her, to believe she’s important.  She feels too much.  She wants too much.  She’s a naïve child who doesn’t understand and believes in stupid shit like love – believing it’s the answer to everything.  She believes in God, miracles, positive thinking, success and romance.  She’s got a big imagination, but her dreams torture the practical side of me, overwhelming me with faith and killing me with hope.  She’s the dreamer and I’m the one left to clean up the mess her dreams leave behind.

It was her dream I had this morning.  I want her to have it so bad, but I can’t give it to her. I can’t make it happen.  I can wipe her tears away when she wakes.

My dream, the practical side of me, is that tomorrow I’ll be strong again and forget this moment of weakness. It serves no purpose.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

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A Place at the Table

Table in the Desert

Here is a beautiful story written by an author friend of mine, Jeff Suwak, who just released his first book.   I’m a dreamer, and I’m always interested in hearing about other people’s dreams, mostly to see if theirs are as crazy as mine.  It seems I’m in good company.

For those of you who are Cormac McCarthy, Ernest Hemingway, Charles Bukowski, Jack Kerouac, Philip K. Dick or Hunter S. Thompson fans, you will really enjoy this.

Please visit this page, subscribe to this author’s page, and leave Jeff a comment.  You might just find yourself a “Place at the Table”.

A Place at the Table.

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