These dreams….Our first dreams

It is said when angle travel, heaven smiles.

What becomes of those sparks, that try to escape the gravitational pull of hells fire?

Life as well as in our dreams, seem to be an endless conveyor-belts worth of beginnings rushing towards us at will. A kids life is full of excitement, interest, intrigue, countless hands on experiences, seamless and endless in wonderment; from one moment to the next, from one dream to the next reality. Life is a wondrous mystery. Questions that are unasked as of yet, soon become all answers arranged according to truths. What can’t be held, examined, experienced, or even tasted, truly isn’t real, or really understood?

A new plaything? Or just a new thing? A new type of food, or something like candy— that isn’t food at all. At least according to parents? But still tastes good. Questions abound, and at times answers aren’t long waited for. There is no such things as information over-load, exploration exhaustion, and no such thing as patience either. To the childish explorer, who views the world as their jewelry-box, and every new thing in it as a treasured gem to explore, a thing to cherish, or something new to learn.

How do you think kids view dreams? Is their first one a good one? Or just some fantasy or misunderstood wonder? Dreams are full of endless possibility’s, a world separated from realty, a new world waiting to be embraced? Could their first experiences with dreams be one of scary fright? Something unrealized, and never experienced before that only seems to come at night? Can we as humans both young or old alike, be frightened over something we haven’t experienced yet? Or would we be… unsure, intrigued, puzzled, unsteady and cautiously curious, like a very young child that examines their first piece of hard candy before tasting it? But what if dreams aren’t all sweet?

That calm easy expression of sleep, where tiny eye-lids are pulled over the eyes like tiny blankets, were fiscal muscles are all relaxed. A vision or a beam of humanity’s light, fiscally expressed as a human angles sleepy face that catches our sight. Peace and quiet are the soft blankets to the soul, giving rest and security to the young and old. But what is the view from the minds vantage point, that dreamers traveling light? A slight tremor at first, building to rapid movements of the eyes. Those same angles eyes covered in delict little blankets, begin to toss and turn, move side to side real quick. Prehaps a tear droplet that slowly escapes like a droplet of wax escaping a hot wick. Breathing that becomes heavy, labored, or distorted like someone who is sick. These are the first indications of a quiet storm that’s soon to arise, erasing that peaceful sleep, that suddenly explodes into a raging storm expressed by half-open sleeping eyes.

Dreams manifest themself’s when we sleep, by the rapid eye movements accompanied with those clumsy unvoluntary twitches of their hands, legs, and feet. Do kids also embrace dreams with interest as adults do? That same kind of intrigue, or wonderment, warped-up and embraced in the same way’s as a child does in the pursuit of everyday life? Do they see the dreams and those dreamy environments as nothing but the same thing as real life, not recognizing their state of rest, a world different when fully alert and awake? Is there a difference in a childs thoughts and mind, when being bathed by a dreams mindset glow?

You have heard the expression: “Dream big or go home!” But what if your dreams are over powering, massive, bigger then life, bigger then your experiences? Bigger then the choices you can, or have ever made?

Can we then control this mystery thing we call “Dreams”? What about fear? Can it be controlled? If so how? How is it possible to control things of the night, imagined or real like monsters that hid out of sight? How is it that under beds or in closets, in that endless darkened night, blinded we only see the never experienced before fear of fright?

We humans are funny after all, we build things and make still other things in a managed way, we build our imagination, and we control them through the art of play? We build and mold something from nothing using our minds eye, we see involuntary visions of what could be and then we create it from pictures we only see. Is it all by our own power, or by the angles who would whisper in our ears while we sleep? Those authors of imaginary delights, who would fill our heads with fun-filled adventures, where the impossible is possible, where there is a land of laughter, smiles and delight, that feeling of weightlessness or of flight.

Who should then prompt us with those deep sounds of the night? Those more sinister and mysterious, those hollow bones or sounds of terrors fright. The cool breezy sensations of the devils wing, or of spiders webs against our skin? Who sends all manner of entanglements that obscure us from all enlightened sight. A blinding curtain to snare our imaginary consciousness. Twisting and turning our minds thoughts into a blenders whirl, life’s storms rages on, just beyond our awakened state. Where is our understanding of it all? Is it just out of reach, or does it hide on the other side of sleep?

Dreams; those times where we encounter the unknown. That angels gentle kiss as we drift off to restful bliss. Or that old angels kick! The cold sweat, the racing heart, twitching churning feeling within, that storm that rages beneath our blanketed eyes. Dreams are a world of raging fright, or balloons on weightless flight, bumping against that razors edge, exploding on impact of lighting strikes, truly there is a difference between day and night?

Because there are no mass-produced humans, no rules, or rule books, no instruction manuals to them all. Is there no way to know those secrets of our dreams? Is there no control over dreams or so it seems, no wisdom that lies just under the surface, no one to even ask? Just adventures yet undiscovered, some good, some bad, some so bold, they will be relived, dreamed again until we are old? Do our dreams really matter? With no tour guides, guiding us passed our lonely places within, or those treacherous places we haven’t yet been? Should we just causally consume them as if they would be our nightly entertainment? How is this best explained to our kids, after that visitation from the terror by night; that fear of an endless conveyor-belts worth of new beginnings, where happy ever after seems so far away as it is chased by night?

So easily we bandage a wound so it to can heal. So easily we kiss away tears of pain, all to reassure, to comfort, to calm the rapid betting heart. So eagerly our arms become blankets of reassurances. But with dreams where do we place the band-aid to heal? To be able to then explain to childs point of understanding? Can anyone really hold closely and examine this mystery of why some angels viciously kick us at night, through the power of fright? How do we hold a dream of terror, at arm’s length away, to learn and examine like with all other hands-on experiences, like those experiences or lessons at play?

How can we? When a dream is like catching the wind in the palm of our hands. A supper heroes efforts in build a hand-made prison. Desperately defending by the use of those desperate grasps, those clumsy unvoluntary twitching, from sleeping motioning hands. We reach for that dream… that terror by night! We grasp at it, like its our last effort to do away with fear while putting up a good fight. That devils kicking kiss that desperately squeezes past our fingers, escaping our desperate grasp. But then there is nothing to hold! Nothing to examine, not even a tickles worth, or a tickling kiss who’s tickle would last long after we loosen those clutching hands, checking with a gasp. Did we? Could we have? Can we then find a way of explaining or even understanding, our first dreams or those empty questions that abound?  Where is the childish satisfaction, that healing, with a properly placed band-aid to the wounds brought to us endless or so it seems on life’s conveyor-belts of new experiences in dreams? Where is the peaceful gift for traveling angles hidden? Where do hells angles travel when God is not around? What is allowed? What is forbidden?

The question still seems to remain…. Where do dreams come from?

All the best.

Featured image was a Facebook copy, copyright unknown if any. Would like to give credits where they are due though, when I can.