I am Here, I am Here

There were characters in my dream trying to escape from something, or participating in a game trying to solve a puzzle.  Maybe a little of each.  I'm not sure that I was any of the characters, or I was watching.  There were several levels or rounds involved.  And where I was following (if that is the word for what was happening) one character, I might of switched to follow another character who was having success.  It seemed that he had the answers to each level. 

At the end, he was in a room with several other people.  There was someone who had been with him on other levels who may have been me.   Or he may have had a friend who was doing it also.  Also at least one female.  He seemed to be sorting out or looking at these documents or records with the females who seemed to be somewhat in competition with him somehow.  The more he was sorting I started saying to myself, like a mantra, "I am here, I am here"  It seemed that as I kept saying this, my body started to take form.  I felt like I was the answer for what he was trying to do, and I had to get his attention to let him know that what he was doing was successful because I had been created.   Like what he was doing was conjuring me up in a sense.  I was being created.  I tasted bile in my mouth and I was having trouble breathing, like I was being born or something.   I became anxious.   It was almost like I was in a simulation, like that space in ayahuasca I go to where my existence is in the matrix. 

Then I was almost awake, but I didn't want to be.  I had it in my mind I had to go back in the dream to find out what information was in the prior levels of what he and the other characters were doing.  I don't remember specifically what they were doing when I started to wake up, but I felt it was important.  Then I eventually woke.  It almost felt like he was an aspect of my consciousness finding its way to the surface, and the reason why he was so successful in navigating it was because he already knew the path.  

Becoming More Solid

We aren't really anything.  We are not the wave, we are the ocean.  We are vast and rhythmic.  

Then we have thoughts, we become more solid.  The disturbing thoughts will even bring pain to our body.  Some thought will repeat, like the bodies attempt to heal itself by oscillating us back into motion, into the ocean.   And healing oscillations also arise in trance states, drumming, or mantras.

In this way, each thought we have is its own little trauma.  But I think we need to come up with a new word for trauma.  Yes, each trauma is its own separation, and the pain of separation, but each thought is also its own little work of creation.  For that this the magic.  Trauma creates thoughts and thoughts are what makes us Choate.  Thoughts are what brings something out of nothing.  Thoughts as trauma as pain as creation.  And like a snake eating its own tail, our act of creation is a way of working with our trauma, perhaps building a structure around the trauma, perhaps dancing with the trauma.

But we are not what we think we are.  That is the mystery.  And though the denizens of the Cahokia mounds may think that there are dimensions beyond the so called middle world, I sense a deeper relationship that I have not yet began to fathom.  And in the future, the message sent back to me now is that we are like portals for transmissions we have not yet begun to understand.