It is said that there are dreams and dreams.
There are those narrative, sometimes meaningful, less often, in which the story, the story takes precedence over memory, sensory clarity on those dreams ... I'm about to tell them that heard.
Then there are those I call "dream-event" because their memory is more of a bully scene really lived.
dreams are augmented reality, hyper-real, which continue to haunt us all day and you will not take away more from the head. It is said, and I am among those who do, that this type of dream experiences are communications that we have come from another sphere: the wing of you may think there's another dimension to any master or the collective unconscious, it does not matter. For this have a value of different types, although their meaning is discovered in more detail later.
When you have these experiences - and for some reason I have not ever peaceful, bucolic or generally pleased - to hear and experience, I know that the best thing to do is to share them.
And what else WOULD BE there to do the blog??
So caught my nightmare!
"I was in a waiting room of a medical alternative. Even the doctors were waiting there, sending back patients who had not the number that had to pass at that time, even though he had nothing to do and hung up as a bystander. I should not pass. Went with someone else who had something to do with the first part of the dream, the more traditional. At one point I approached a huge window that took the entire long wall of the waiting room. In a sort of particularly charming sunset from the hill of a city that I knew having to be nice, suddenly a piece of crust wider than the city itself, spinning and flying through the air seems to just reach the windows of my waiting room and then slip back loudly in the sea. Shortly thereafter, the highest wave, far more than the hill itself, roboando advances to where I am sweeping everything. I remember a lot of confusion in the valley of which I, as a wave or as remnants of the destruction, scanning the ravaged landscape with a mixture of feelings from which prevails a romantic nostalgia. "
Here. Finished the nightmare. Remember a little 'movie Clint Eastwood, Hereafter, the hereafter, but infinitely bigger.
In these cases, being a dream of the early morning, what counts are the first thoughts that accompany it, those who are alone when still no good reason.
The first evocation has been the memory of Atlantis, the submerged continent, whose science and technology is said to have given the presumption the cataclysm. Then those men who claim we should soon expect to repair the mountains to save themselves from the end of the world. Then the earth's crust that gives way under the weight of what is above you, after being deprived of the support fluid consisting of oil and gas which may have contributed to the same Atlantean missing and burying free poisons and burning lava that devastated everything before that water is to hold everything until it reaches the mountains for survivors. So I thought I could explain the description of the end of the world that he gave were that the Incas or Mayans, to the Aborigines, or that civilization would have disappeared from the sea crashing on the ground coming from above, as the waters of Lake Vajont the sudden fall of the land within it.
Then I left, I spoke with my son, school, cell phones, sports ... everything is back to run.
normally.
Walking to the center I could not help notice how much it had grown the number of beggars. We, those who sleep in the heat, and their rough, on two different wavelengths: If you're not in that world, why bother? Simply does not exist. It's just your self-harm. The earth, the place that has been entrusted to the human race for thousands of years, in spite, not only of Kepler, Copernicus and Armstrong, but also of the same Ptolemy, appears to us bipeds as a secure platform infinity. It can not fall! There sorreggerà forever because she is not under that land based on soil and ground soil infinite. Although we know that it is not, there always seems to be impossible otherwise. Life is a long quiet river!
If I believed in psychoanalysis, or even if I liked, maybe I could consider it all a thing of the prenatal labor and if I put the hat I could think of psychosomatic bladder, kidney, but also to the reticuloendothelial system, if I know an expert in Kabbalah and numbers and go play on that wheel. But I can barely sing a few songs, some mine and some other long time ago and then I close with a vintage De Gregori:
"... A childhood friend, after this song / She said" It's beautiful, is a nightmare could / But tell me, dreams are often the things you've written / Or have you invented just to shock? "/ Love, love, take me away / I still have to wake up! "
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