Memory.
The smoke and mirrors of what never really happened to who we really are.
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There was a stair there on the left side of the room as you looked at that far wall.  It opened with a small door that could not be seen later in the day.  Once closed, it disappeared from view, and from my current reality.  It was the entrance I used to enter the dream, to become the child lying on the little blue bed waiting to walk me through this world.  The place I came from was bathed in light.arlene-graston---journey--7

Dream?  At breakfast, when they’d speak of dreams they’d had while sleeping, I’d say, “No, no, this is the dream, and are we going to go on meeting like this?”

I said a great many things that did not go over well and soon I learned to keep them to myself; eventually, from myself.  Also (in secrecy) I did many things in defiance of the laws of physics, abilities I lost one by one.  Being able to do these things or not do them is really not important.  That’s just playing with phenomena.  There is much more to reality than that game.  In fact, that game is what has Human Kind so confused and enthralled.

I remember planning the trip: I remember standing as if at a window, looking onto a scene below, being excited that I would soon be within it.  I had chosen the players I’d meet, and I knew the point of entry.  Subsequent memories of the actual birth find me excited that the time had come to move into that dream as I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed my kit bag for the Big Adventure!  There was joy at the anticipation of it all.  I have that same feeling arlene-graston---journey-1anow before I start a new project or plan a new trip.

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