Sol's Dream Galleries

In Angela's dream, there is a strange hotel corridor, and the low rabble of tense, unfamiliar voices behind some doors. Subdued light beams down from ceiling fixtures, and certainly Angela must find something, yet no one has said what. She looks around for anything that is valuable. Only random particles of dust float by in slow suspension. Angela ponders the puzzling, irrelevant ambience, tries to re-focus, but the lingering dream won't leave her.   

In Andy's dream the sidewalks are white and black squares, as people become figures than back to people in clever turns of metered nonsense.  Never King but often a pawn sacrificed saving the indifferent Queen from harm of encroachment or mad entrapment. He  feels small and vulnerable in his own dream, even before the tiny beast he never sees but knows by its secrecy, distant but nearby, quietly vibrating. Long hours yet before veils are lifted, universes by standard dream time.  So, he strays thru more low-key danger before the impersonal alarm awakens.  

Dreams either last, or soon slip away. In Amber's dream, she hears shouting outside, steps out to her porch and sees a crowd of people on her lawn, all looking up with excitement. Overhead, a massive, light-blue hummingbird, big as a house, hovering above the street. Maybe five hundred feet up, the wind from the rapidly vibrating wings comes down like the force of giant fans, while Amber squints to focus her thoughts. Then, in an instant she sees the gigantic hummingbird turn into an old, three-story Craftsman mansion with porches and balconies, as it slowly recedes into folds of sky, shrinking smaller as it rises higher. In her dream, Amber thinks, well, at least a house makes more sense. She can understand it, but no matter, as this quirky dream she won't recall at all.  

In Ranna's dream she stands on a small pier with others as they watch the sun descending into the water. The air seems new and hopeful, as if much good for all is very near. Ranna stands straightly, almost at attention, but her eyes remain closed. Then, someone offhandedly says, "Too bad this is the last one." Nobody else speaks to disagree, Ranna tries to talk now but cannot. She feels alarmed and confused- but, why is everyone so calm?

In Hassan's dream, he walks somewhere unknown, but he has no concern. He is as surprised as everyone that the celestial bodies have somehow changed places, but all were calm about it, as he also was. Yet, it seemed unreal. The giant Saturn was smaller, closer, Hassan never knew it could seem so non-threatening, so near. In Hassan's dream the cosmos rolls out a new math, and different paths and orbits than we've known for anything moving, which is everything that ever was, and remains in the safe spaces between worlds and imaginings. But, the old moon is clearly displeased, and pensive in the background.

In Olan's dream he is ten again, standing in a sloping field of white poppies, and someone very near is quietly crying. Olan realizes that he is the sad one, they want him to leave soon, a boarding school two towns away, not far, they say. But, Olan wants to hide in the dream forever, then they'll forget their plans, then they'll leave him alone. In Olan's dream, the sun over him burns too warm, but the poppies couldn't be happier.

In Weston's dream, the sea lion will lead and he'll then follow, relieved he won't need to know where, or care about his safety, Weston's guide is trustworthy. There is a chambered bubbling rumble all about him as he floats along with the determined sea lion, together they form odd, underwater shadows that follow them along the rushing currents. In Weston's dream there is only cool sensation, slow-motion, no thought of destination.

The multi-level house is vast and empty in Laura's dream. She feels overwhelmed by all she must do to move in, and there is something working against her. The giant moving van outside is still full with everything she has, but there's no progress made. Whenever Laura brings in a box, or chair, or lamp, it disappears. The moving men just stand aside and stare, Laura doesn't know why they aren't helping. There is a time factor. The truck will be leaving soon, and Laura cannot work fast enough as the mood turns mean, mocking her with background laughter and jeering ridicule. In her dream, Laura feels frantic now, wishing she had never moved at all.

In Patrick's dream, he walks down the center of an empty highway that passes thru an unknown forest leading to high desert. Still early in dreamtime, unconcerned, he has no hat or water. Patrick thinks only of the coldest air, the blackest desert night bejeweled alive with a radiant canopy of galaxies upon the unapologetic silence of space. In Patrick's dream daylight is insignificant, like the center divider he walks beside, nothing at all to separate now, with a sky still full with many hours before his destination.

In Jan's dream the same jungle bridge appears, and there is a longing to cross, peril ignored, before the opportunity is lost. Jan knows she couldn't find the bridge, the area unknown. She must go forward now or never again remember the path back home. Cross now or never cross, leave now or stay behind. In Jan's dream she can't decide, the last and stillest moments before dawn.

In Elena's dream, at the far end of a long corridor, she is again in the hospital room, but it's all backwards. Now, her mother sits in the  chair, worried, while Elena lays on the bed, tubes in both arms. "No, this is all wrong", she tries to say, yet she cannot speak or move. But, feeling calm nonetheless, her paralysis isn't concerning-- Elena knows the scene from before. Different this time, she isn't afraid of the empty silence. In her dream, Elena trades places with her dying mom, a few imagined moments before the night nurses come.

In Katjiana's dream, the bombs explode the air in booming bursts of terrifying, soulless horror. No one can hear over the constant roar, the planes high overhead and the sky pocked with heavy fire, no one ever wins any war, only lucky losers who tally their dead and feign victory with shouts and cheering, Katjiana can see their cloudy faces jeering and drunk with lies. In her dream she despises the wind across her face, dirty with hate, and then she cannot awaken because it's not  a dream, Katjiana realizes again and again with every deafening blast.

In Carol's dream she walks for too long down a driveway, where a mailbox awaits her key. Inside, one letter, from her father who has been in heaven the past decade. She notes the hand-written address, cancelled four-cent Lincoln stamp, blue. The half-speed pace of Carol's dream continues as she turns the envelope over to the back. There, a red heart seal pins down the triangle point. Her father was a man of few words who traveled on his job. In Carol's dream, she only knows the letter she cannot open would answer all her questions. 

In Carmen's dream, he arrives to what he senses is his last day in Creation, the crisp and cold new sky invites his expected ascent. Carmen feels neither fear nor pain. He always knew the day would inevitably arrive. His internal gaze softens into the deep, friendly expanse of blue and cloud. Feeling only curious acceptance, Carmen zooms thru certain scenes from his past, the backlight of sun has never been so clear, last illumination of this worldly dimension, a calm understanding of his mortal departure, a preview of sorts, free of dread or stress, only the full nothingness, then vanish without a trace. In his dream, Carmen soars up thru the vastness of time and space.

The enchanted hamlet cannot be found on a map, yet its place may be divined by earnest purpose. Deep within an unnamed forest, lost among secret paths of hidden coves and valleys, the village lies beyond a hallowed vortex of ancient portals, beneath a forgotten corner  of cloudless sky. You've been there before but cannot recall it, unless a certain dream directs your path from birth, the hamlet cannot be found by accident or random longing. The uniquely magical village of your soul is where you must return, but not a moment too soon, and only when your wandering ends in a glorious final light, thru the enduring wilderness of existence.

Returning after a year, the single scene dream was by now most familiar to Cole.  Open expanse, broad daylight sky, seraphim entity shrouded under cloud fabric and cold air, rising and spreading across all memory of himself before he was someone he ever knew. Cole stares into the illuminated cloud, and sees his first face, the one that remains hidden from his conscious recollection. In Cole's repeating dream, no answers offered, no questions asked, only sky slowly filling.   

Dreams within dreams, realms of reality in between- who can be very certain about anything? Were you dreaming yesterday, waiting for the light to change? Or, are you dreaming now, somehow driving while you sleep? Because, all's possible in dream, all physics suspended as needed, all rules duly upended.  Even the air itself questions you, drawing in breath cool to warm, nothing is the same as before. You think you're lost between the seams where no one sees. But, your soul's GPS still tracks by satellite, there's no escaping this deal now, no need to.  Remember that you've done nothing wrong. So, you can start up again in the next dream, next realm, next drive to some cloudless nowhere that only vanishes anyway upon arrival- is this quaint idea of consciousness only then a parade of moments? Is there, after all, no last answer that explains the first question? No resolution to this worldly trance of wakeful embrace? Nothing? No trace of a solution anyplace? So then c...

In Manuel's dream, four musicians walk the cobblestone streets in his little town, a colorful serenade for the grey afternoon, guitar, banjo, trumpet, and accodian, they sing to all the townsfolk who come out to their porches to listen intently. Manuel is a little boy at the upstairs window, watching the musicians perform, wanting to go downstairs but he cannot. In Manuel's dream he etches secret words thru his breath on the glass, pretending that the strolling quartet can see them, but then he only waves, knowing they cannot.  

In Donny's dream, the same long scene manifests, 1800's London, the night biting cold, he's the town drunk, thrown out again by his disgusted wife, then roams the streets and alleys in his overcoat and hat, the dream is the same each time, the paths, the shadows with faces, the stinging shame he feels unable to return home until daybreak. In Donny's dream he feels everyone's scornful disappointment, and his own unexplainable gloom and dread.

In Hannah's dream, the noisy cafe is bustling, most tables full of the busy lunch time crowd. Alone, she has an hour, but no one sees her, nor is her table even cleared yet. At another table, everyone has the same face as their waitress. They're all smiling the same and talking in unison. Hannah grows impatient as a few more plates of steaming food go by. Then, she suddenly sees her supervisor who walks up to her. Hannah's boss leans closer and whispers, "See, my eyes, they're old! That's why I'm fixing them soon." Hannah only nods, unable to speak or move now, and there is very little break time remaining.

The rarest of dreams, all things shimmer from their own inner light, stain-glass colors alive and pulsing, you as well glowing yet awake, aware of each moment as if it's always been so bright, as if you're the dream, real-time by celestial design.

In Harlan's tropical dream, birds slither thru the brush, and splayed snakes fly from tree limb to limb, neither prescient laws of nature nor physics apply as nothing looks right or makes sense, but Harlan is only the faceless witness, an extra on the dream sideline, a low shadow with no speaking parts, like at work, and the director is always his overbearing boss. 

In Theo's dream, his car is self-propelled, self-navigated, he's running late and grateful just to hold the wheel, as heavy fog engulfs all lanes in both directions, no one minds since routes are programmed, all move steadily thru their own dreams, Theo can't understand, but feels okay going to his work.

In Powell's dream, the air about him crackles with excitement. He sits in a royal's chair that centers a huge hall framed by the rarest gold walls, with seven pale ivory pillars, marble floors, and intricately ornate rugs woven with silver threads, and four brightly jewelled lamps hanging at the grand hall's corners- vast and holy, this heavenly chamber of wonder. Sinking deeper into a cool sofa, Powell hardly breathes as he waits. Everything all set now, his special meeting arranged weeks ago by the official authorities, Powell feels the pure current of  anticipation pulsing his limbs. He stares at the giant, regal doors directly across from him. He has so many questions for God. The most serious matters that Powell has long thought about, and prayed over. The majestic doors never open, Powell's dream ends with the sharp trill of alarm, muted rumble of downstairs traffic, a benevolent new morning filling his small room.

In Jim's dream, giant machines rumble in a chorus of staccato rhythms across a cold factory, the ringing clang of pounding metal and low drone of worn gear grinding the morning down to a fine dust of forgetfulness. His heavy glove flexes around a wrench handle as a man shouts, but Jim can't hear, raises palm to ear as his dream disappears.

Then again, there are those dreams that are lost in the spray of daylight breaking, fog filling too quickly, last wisps of scenes, fragments already soft-focused into forgotten waves, repeating as they do. Maybe dreams aren't lost, merely recycled.

Amanda's dream always seems in parenthesis, as she remains in the shadows of the scenes, mostly mundane work, office and co-workers, random talk, she stands in a cubicle's corner only watching the others move about. In the lunchroom now, an old coffeemaker drips, someone opens the fridge, the light makes Amanda squint, turn away, the dream goes grey as her boss lurks about, then Amanda silently floats to the ceiling lights.

In Ishaan's dream, there is a carnival ahead, he can see the lights and bustle, the silhouettes of tall rides and waves of people. But the carnival recedes as he approaches, Ishaan gets no closer, so picks up his pace, but to no difference. The carnival disappears, he walks downstairs to a cellar factory. The several small machines running are mad with stamping chatter, each in their own rythmn, as tiny plastic things fall into barrels, nonstop. Ishaan believes he is there late, but sees no one around, so then walks back outside. The carnival has returned, it's all around Ishaan, who is a young boy now. He looks up to the head of a strangely familiar elephant,  and he is fearful, recalling how he does not even like carnivals, doesn't like them at all.

In Dante's dream he is small and very scared from nothing he can recall. Then, he floats down the hall to his father's den, but stops.  Then, he walks in with proper posture. "Father, I cannot sleep and I'm afraid." He sees his father slightly smile, then beckon him to come closer. Now they're outside in the daylight, his father engulfs him in his big arms- there's the warming sense of total safety, Dante knows he is protected.

In Ernie's dream he is driving his truck, he sees the sign, turns the wheel, curves down an off-ramp.  Then, there is a courtroom, his soon-to-be ex-wife is on one side sobbing quietly as her boyfriend consoles her. Ernie's parents- both passed years ago- are sitting in the back, looking very worried. The court clerk is speaking but it's garbled, folks coming and going. Ernie's dream is paralyzing, sad beyond his ability to speak. There's an assumptive doom of failure, and gloomy future alone.

Fighting depression for months, in Jesse's dream, he is somehow underwater but able to breath in shallow gasps, while entangled in a tight mess of old nets, plastic, and seaweed. He floats about but cannot control his direction, nor can he free himself. There is a quiet panic, or approaching doom, like some vortex of crisis coming, but it's unknown. In his dream, Jesse cannot surface, forever bound to his random path, chronically alone like a dull pain.

In Clark's dream, he is with two unknown friends, hiking thru hidden virgin forest very near a vortex of historical measure, they're looking for the Tree that is ever-existing, no one knows if it's even real, nonetheless, Clark searches for what his mind imagines, it must exist if he is to have hope going forward, so he feels anxious to find it, while the others lag behind.

In Eva's dream, she prefers the view from the side, an observer not the star, while others ask the questions and make decisions. It's always her office and staff, there's always the noisy meeting, others are straining to make their points, then Eva melts to shadow and drifts unnoticed beyond the prattle of conflict, did someone make coffee? Is there an agenda? In Eva's dream she's no longer the boss, nor wants to be, not when she can hide.

In Mauricio's dream always first the early scene, the beach, the cold spray, and he's running. Then, it's later, he's helping his father with the physical therapy. He stands on one side of his bed while the therapist slowly bends the healing leg. His father smiles. No pain, he seems okay. Mauricio feels useful again, his father is improving. Sons, fathers, no stronger bond, their love lasting beyond the tall and formal corridors of time. In Mauricio's dream he hugs his father who radiates generations of hope.

In Kathleen's dream there is an oval chamber that feels like a courtroom, with guards standling stiffly at the doors. Awaiting her turn to speak on the new park project, she looks over and winks at her 'evidence' sitting nearby, some very excited neighbor kids with their folks and friends. Then, the big shot city officials file in from outside: four old, waddling ducks. Kathleen thinks, "Good, this is  easy ."

In Widgie's dream the park grass is wet and cold at 6am. The waking air is new with possibility. She looks up into tangled branches, but no squirrel in sight. Then, she sniffs down the recent visitors, finding her points to stop, scents of other critters all around. Flappy ducks, affable turtles, black birds and pigeons, sparrows and hummingbirds, very small mice skittering thru bushes, tiny lizards and insects sliding thru dirt to cooler shade. Widgie sees and smells it all, her nose is a third eye, she feels free in her dream to roam and wander over the park's low hills.

In David's dream, the city is unknown. It's dusk as he walks the strange downtown, passing shops and stores, a restaurant, then an empty storefront that sold plants and pottery. Inside, a kindly man points to an odd, potted cactus, beautiful but its name is forgotten- it seems to be the last item. David wants to buy it, but he recalls being far from home. The man then points to a shopping cart, the only other object in the store, but David has no dream voice, so he can't explain.

In Corwin's dream, he walks down steep subway steps, then there's darkness as decades of his life zoom past on fast trains, only his face in the repeating glass at different ages and old scenes, standing very still on the station in rapt attention, then every detail of Corwin's vision forgotten in a rush of redirected destination, quarreling misinformation, trust the wrong arrow, dream running too long, unsettled to daybreak's restless wake, what was it then that felt so sad, that felt so gone?

In Pahana's dream, he continues his journey to find the ancestral place, the entrance his ancient Hopi father's talked about rarely and in secretive tones, the path to the earlier place that's far down below, a huge grotto where the giants live, and also the Hopi gods who protect the Earth. Then, carved out of the Great Flood, cliffs of the Grand Canyon appear as Pahana forges on, seeking a certain hidden cave opening, ever hopeful he will find his way back to this First World.  

In Elliot's dream, it was on the wrong side to be the sun. Glowing just beneath treetop level, the new light pulsed and ebbed against a crisp, near cobalt-blue sky, certainly alive in some manner, charged with an energy that may come from light years away, warping the folds of space in open daylight, opposite high noon's thin shadow, another orb hanging suspended in time, unnamed, so what exactly is it?  Could it be, then , some unseen light from within? By the time Elliot reaches the forest's edge, the light vanishes into a mystery of tangled branches and leaves.

In Orlando's familiar dream, there is the lifelong reappearence, it has occurred a dozen times now, same scene of sea spray, wet sand flying, galloping briskly atop a grey horse, picking up the pace. Orlando's father rides ahead on a black horse, still early morning, the sun is low with a sharp, salty chill in the breeze. The beach shoreline then becomes a narrow path, Orlando wants to catch up, but there's still time yet to meet the father he has never known.

In Monika's dream, she is even more in charge with her own Amazon Prime, ordering her premium gourmet kibble.

In mail carrier Nick's dream, it's near the end of his shift, only a few bundles left, one more street. His anticipation grows leaving the final apartment building, holdiing   a pale blue envelope. Addressed "Honey" in familiar longhand, painfully beautiful to see, no stamp or postmark, but there's no mystery: it's from Nick's beloved wife Naomi, gone to God one long year past. I n the deep safety of mindful sleep, she handwrites to him: "It's beyond imagining, this  missing you, yet seeing you. Just know we'll be together again, it's certain, so be at peace till then. I can say no more for now ."  In Nick's dream he feels her light's reassuring embrace . 

In Julia's dream she is named Eartha, a being formed from the collective imagination of certain kindred mountains that achieve awareness. Rising directly from fields and forest floor, these beings surface for a human eye blink, and only when dire times are near at hand, fleeing with the clinging roots of fear, the ominous scent of war in the air, nations' voices rising but not in hallelujah, instead new tensions begin the next dark year.

In Aaron's dream, a rotary phone on a wooden desk rings loudly, he answers. His father- in heaven five years now- says hello. Aaron, startled to hear his voice, cannot speak, suspended between sadness and joy- he hears his father- always the kidder- continue. "Can't talk long, son, I've got an angel on another call." Aaron looks down at his hand, the phone has turned into his mother's favorite satin pillow, small and square with a fine Paisley teardrop. Aaron is then spirited to their graveside, it's raining, both arms raised , eyes closed, far away a phone ringing.

In Sheldon's dream, standing before a least favorite door, he draws in a breath. Stepping into the dentist office, silent, drifting fish gaze from an immaculate tank, greeting Sheldon with their aqua-paradise of no-stress. The receptionist appears, broadly smiling with glaringly bright teeth, hands him a clipboard. The dentist- the one on the radio who is famous, with many star friends- Sheldon hears him singing in Persion in a back room, his voice high and lilting. The assistant is a burly, stout man with double-arm sleeve tattoos. He prepares Sheldon in the chair with far too many straps, then talks about I nfowars , the moon landing hoax, and his flat-earther friends. Sheldon is fully trapped, and the long dream only half-over.

In Jonah's dream he rises slowly from the bed like a living ghost leaving its body, then floats around corners to the kitchen, passing his indifferent cat sitting cross-legged on the stairs, Jonah opens the refrigerator, squinting, but then, none of the food is his.

In Anna's dream a massive spider toils on a new web, stretched across two bushes, its busy legs weaving an ancient pattern, the sunrise moisture still glistening on warming leaves, with only silk and slight breeze for tools. Anna watches in rapt fascination, her old, wicker rocker creaking the old porch planks. The focused spider is oblivious to her gazing, speeding up its efforts with precise, efficient movement, as artist, engineer, or magician.