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Asleep you can experience many hours whilst only a few waking moments have passed. This is why dreams are an ideal platform for training. ↗
Why, it seemed to me I had lost the most of myself; and there was left only a brain which played with ideas, and a body that went delicately down pleasant ways. And I could not believe as my fellows believed, nor could I love them, nor could I detect anything in aught they said or did save their exceeding folly: for I had lost their cordial common faith of what use they made of half-hours and months and years... I had lost faith in the importance of my own actions, too. There was a little time of which the passing might be made endurable; beyond gaped unpredictable darkness: and that was all there was of certainty anywhere. ↗
At night in the tent, he leaves the flaps open, to feel the fire outside, to hear Anthony in the trailer, to see her better. She asks him to lie on his stomach, and he does, though he can't see her, while she runs her bare breasts over his disfigured back, her nipples hardening into his scars. You feel that? she whispers. Oh, he does. He still feels it. She kisses him from the top of his head downward, from his buzz-cut scalp, his shoulder blades, his wounds. Inch by inch she cries over him and kisses her own salt away, murmuring into him, why did you have to keep running? Look what they did to you. Why didn't you just stay put? Why couldn't you feel I was coming for you? You thought I was dead, he says. You thought I had been killed and pushed through the ice in Lake Ladoga. And what really happened was, I was a Soviet man left in a Soviet prison. Wasn't I dead? He is fairly certain he is alive now, and while Tatiana lies on top of his back and cries, he remembers being caught by the dogs a kilometer from Oranienburg and held in place by the Alsatians until Karolich arived, and being flogged in Sachsenhausen's main square and then chained and tattooed publicly with the 25-point star to remind him of his time for Stalin, and now she lies on his back, kissing the scars he received when he tried to escape to make his way back to her so she could kiss him. As he drives across Texas, Alexander remembers himself in Germany lying in the bloody straw after being beaten and dreaming of her kissing him, and these dreams morph with the memories of last night, and suddenly she is kissing not the scars but the raw oozing wounds, and he is in agony for she is crying and the brine of her tears is eating away the meat of his flesh, and he is begging her to stop because he can't take it anymore. Kiss something else, he pleads. Anything else. He's had enough of himself. He's sick of himself. She is tainted not just with the Gulag. She is tainted with his whole life. Does it hurt when I touch them? He has to lie. Every kiss she plants on his wounds stirs a sense memory of how he got them. He wanted her to touch him, and this is what he gets. But if he tells her the truth, she will stop. So he lied. No, he says. ↗
Faith without works is dead“If you were guaranteed success, what would you do with your life?” Another way to frame it is, “If you already had all the fame, fortune, and power you could ever want, what would you do with your life?” The answers to these questions hold the keys to the purpose of your life. . Action, finally, is the true religion. By taking this bold step, regardless of outcome, you’re sending yourself a message that your dream is real. You’re cutting a new groove in consciousness that says you will no longer be held back by fear or perceived limitation. You’re setting the law of freedom in motion, allowing it to gain momentum, until you won’t be able to prevent your progress even if you tried! ↗
#emergence #law-of-emergence #selfhelp #spirituality #dreams
There are so many people in this world who can live day to day, sourly dismissing love as just a man made illusion with the sole purpose of embedding hopeless festering ideas of a richer, fuller, happier existence into our psyche, in the hopes that it will make our seemingly wasteful, unneeded, and depressing lives just a little more tolerable. When we invite intimacy into our life, we take a wager strong enough to lift our spirits and make us feel as if nothing in this world can overcome us, and that no challenge is insurmountable. But Love can indeed be a dangerous game to play. There's nothing in the world that can be easier than to give up on the idea after a heartbreak. Anybody can do it. But it doesn't always take being in a strong, everlasting bond with our soul mate to bring out the best in us. There's just something about the pursuit of love that for some reason beckons us to keep getting back on the horse. The hunt is what keeps our dreams alive and strong until that day comes when we stand across the altar from our brides and grooms, about to lean in to that one kiss that takes us into our eternal, everlasting life of bliss and happiness. ↗
You see, as kids, my friends and I assumed we'd grow up to become like our heroes--that someday, like them, we'd do great things, make a difference in teh nonsensical world that belonged to adults. Now, watching Space PAtrol crew resist Agent X, the kid who dreamed of living heroically snaps out of a long, deep sleep. It's like awakening in the middle of the night--or in midlife-- remembering something you forgot to do. Something very important. ↗
She disliked him more for having mastered her inner will. How dared he say that he would love her still, even though she shook him off with contempt? She wished she had spoken more - stronger. Sharp, decisive speeches came thronging to her mind, now that it was too late to utter them. The deep impression made by the interview was like that of a horror in a dream; that will not leave the room although we waken up, and rub our eyes, and force a stiff rigid smile upon our lips. It is there - there, cowering and gibbering, with fixed ghastly eyes, in some corner of the chamber, listening to hear whether we dare to breathe of its presence to anyone. And we dare not; poor cowards that we are! ↗
