Mythology and Dreams
I had a rather interesting conversation in a dream last night, I cannot remember much about the conclusions we came to, but I do recall the general premise. At one time, there truly was an age of mythology, and in the light of reason and objectivity, it has since retreated to our dreams.
The human dreamscape is a testament to our shared history, our long-forgotten legacy, the last refuge of the collective id of a deprecated race, trapped in a temporal construct as either sanctuary or prison cell. It’s difficult to perceive merit objectively, but this world is no worse than anywhere else. The multiverse offers a broad spectrum of variants for each dimension, yet each has their flaws and incongruities.
Our world, here on Earth, has been contained by social order and primed by natal fear, our psyche stripped of its supreme abilities, our biological hardware stunted and restrained. We are not ourselves, yet in some perverse way, I believe that the human condition craves this discipline of limitation, both physically and mentally — a life for many, where we work so hard to gain so little.
Sleep is the passage, the journey from here to the outer world, a place where our reality overlaps the very edges of alternative space, and once in a while some of us go too far, and we dive so deeply into our dreams, that we arrive on the other side. An almost identical match to the reality we left behind, and perhaps for some, the changes will go unnoticed, and for others, they’ll go crazy.
Maybe that’s why the powers that be have been busy rewriting history, editing details to sow confusion, should they want to attract more people from other dimensions and mask the shift in consciousness.
Of course, as Orwell said,
“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.”
However, it goes further than that, for we are ruled by a faction so corrupted by its own greed and avarice, they want more, and they must draw it here. This dimensional environment is mutating, drawing in interlopers from similar realities. The over-simplification of this construct applies the same intellectual common denominator to almost everything we experience. What offends must go, what does not can stay, use informational overload to hypnotise the masses, caught by their reflection and nullified by false introspection.
If humans remain half-awake for much of the time, their thoughts can be influenced, and their imagination curtailed. Eventually, they’ll believe the nightmare that they’ve been instructed to create. A life neither horrific nor exciting, generic and debased by a monotony of persistence, packaged and presented in the bland existential vacuum of modern experience. Somewhere in that mental frequency lies the root of mass culpability, where the gullible can act upon transferred opinion and the inference of mutual decision. When in fact, they’re merely copying each other to maintain solidarity with the hive mind society.
With so many of the world’s population doped up on prescribed medication, a cornucopia of pharmaceutical solutions for neuroses and depression, even pills to sleep and wake up in the morning, I have little hope for our future. Such substances, scientifically approved despite a gamut of dangerous side-effects, in essence, reduce and redact our ability to dream. A most vital process for maintaining the stability of the human mind, to dream is to escape this place, for to remain awake in this world for more than a few weeks, most certainly induces madness, if not even death.
Of course, the body must rest and repair itself on a cellular level, but there’s far more to it than that. The longer we spend in constant company with each other, the more irritable we become. Until we must spend time alone with our own thoughts, and even then that doesn’t seem enough.
So we sleep, and we dream, and we escape this reality. Those who are not fans of Earth are far more comfortable crossing the barrier to explore nearby realities besides our own. Those who’d rather stay earthbound, have great trouble with the metaphysical dreamscape that lies beyond the threshold of human consciousness.
The one realm of experience we humans share unhindered by state legislation, or governmental intervention lies within our dreams. We are free to dream of many other lives. Including past, future and parallel lives, whilst others are experienced outside of time and space. Those brief sojourns that remain with us forever, trapped in our deep subconscious memories of the mythological age.
Before you begin conjuring up cliches of fantastic beasts, the literary tropes of a shared cultural currency, be aware that we are all unique individuals, and dress the landscape of our dreams with our personal mythology. Yet, despite the differences in interpretation, inside each of our minds exist common facets of the infinite, an ethereal connection to a dimensional sentience. One that collates our experience through the field of consciousness, as a wave function of negative versus positive energy.
Should the balance be drawn so far that experiential reality itself unwinds from its temporal framework, the universe will go dark, and our thoughts will be lost to the Void. Our collective consciousness, irresistibly drawn to edges of reality, to be absorbed by the energetic threshold of a parallel physical universe.
Somebody or something lies outside the limits of human understanding, beyond our capacity for reason, persists in its hatred for this renegade race that was once like them, more human in our aspect, if not more humane.
Now, more and more of us believe we are something other than what we are, but it’s not the body that’s changed, it the body consciousness, the collective subjectivity of the human race. Our mass delusion is breaking down more barriers than you think, including those between the anima and the psyche, order and chaos, academic decadence and self-destruction. This material plane of ours is straining under the weight of its own conception, its edges are bleeding into other dimensions which in turn slowly seep in through our dreams.
When impossibility comes to your town, and the official narrative explains it as a perfectly natural event be ready to resist the psychological warfare. You can always tell when a newsreader is lying, you know that the social networks have been censored, but when the shit hits the fan and everybody down your street is acting like a lunatic, lie down, listen to something quiet on your headphones and try to fall asleep.
It’s the only way out of here, at least at the brink of implosion, because this world is based on mental coercion and psychic intent, collectively visualised into existence through the law of observation. Society is merely a container, if psychological and perceptual schisms become too great, or should conformity neuter the collective psyche, the same thing happens, the centre cannot hold, and this civilisation begins to implode.
As you might’ve guessed by now, I’ve spent some time at various mental health facilities, but despite the odd bout of clinical depression, compared to some I’ve met I’d say I was relatively sane. Some people have gone all the way, leaving this place behind, their body’s there but not their mind. They have conservations with invisible people all the time.
I see shadows, and I converse in my dreams, I sometimes hear voices, but not to the extent, of say, my mother-in-law, who towards her death had full-blown interactions with Dot from Eastenders. Not the actress, but the tv soap character, they even had a few arguments to the point the nurses became worried.
If there was somebody there, they’d adopted a persona that she’d welcome as a friend. Which reminds me of the Jinn, especially those that hang around at the tunnel of light. That place you’re supposed to go when you die, that so many fall for, and after a bullshit life review, are wiped and returned here for another life of blind servitude.
In our concrete reality, despite scientific speculation, we, so far, are the only conscious collective we know of in this universe. Relying only on material data rather than theory, this is it, and there is no more, just empty space and dangerous energy.
Without proof or spiritual belief or as those of a more objective inclination would describe, as self-delusion, there is nothing more than this life on Earth, and once we die, it’s all over.
The establishment, the status quo, the monopolistic view of the corporate autocracy, all lean heavily towards empirical truth, saving their subjectivity for the analysis, rather than in the objective proposition of their seasoned theories.
Proofs and facts constructed from conjecture and verified by an incestuous group-think delivered by governmental bodies and their approved institutions. They are keeping us fresh for the psychic slaughter, for the less prepared we are for the wonders and horrors of death, the greater the likelihood of a plentiful emotional harvest.
Our terror feeds the Jinn, the foot soldiers of the Void, sustaining the inversion of existence that keeps this universe fresh and renewed. This material plane has a mirror, like all the others, as each flows into one another, forever. Who knows, maybe it would be better if everything came to a stop, and we could all live in our dreams forever.
Life has lost all its mystery, it is blatant and gauche, and it demands our full attention. Still, one day we will no longer be here, far from the bright lights of corporeal fear, and then we can agree to make up our own reality, free from the diktats of the eternal autocracy.
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