Sol's Dream Galleries

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.

In Paul's re-occuring dream the same scene: Paul, pizza delivery guy and college student, steps into an elevator, realizes too late there's something wrong, then both the open door and red alarm buttons go dead. Paul looks at the other buttons, also blank. There's always a pizza that fits the corner in some perfect cartoon physics.

In Jack's dream he's standing in his doorway for the first time in a year, sees two milk bottles, then slams the door in a reflexive shudder of fearful dread. Gripping his thoughts again, he goes to deep breaths and some reason. The dream tilts slightly sideways like a carnival ride, as Jack feels a force pulling him into another scene, now it's from the past year, returning from his wife's funeral, stepping back inside, and locking out the world's busy irrelevance. Suddenly recalling how they both so loved fresh milk, he re-opens the front door, yet in the slowest motion, but the bottles are gone.

In Jenna's dream, there is ice and silence, she is calmly alive and can somehow breath, but there is a sense to be still, to listen, only observe the comforting blue light behind closed eyes. Sublime and mysterious, a cool realm that promises no answers, the rapt stillness is Jenna's invitation.

In Abraham's dream, he awakens while still asleep, yet somehow feels as if he has just seen the face of God. And, it looked like another man. But how can this be Abraham wonders, as no one has seen the face of the Creator of the Universe. Prophets cite God's description of man being  created in the very same image, but it's unknown. And then God speaks to him. God says, "We have always and will always know each other. You will see me again, even as you do not see me now. There is a different face for every star, yet not even one reveals me. Next time we meet, I won't look the same. Perhaps neither will you!" The swirling room of sleep then goes silent. Abraham, fully awakened, rises to begin his chores before dawn, full and whole in spirit, leaving for the day in his blessed orchards and fields, feeling recognized, his dream from the night now the sunrise.

In Justin's dream, he reappears on occasion to be in its presence again, the ageless engineer, anonymous by name, the only one who truly knows how the Great Sphinx was built.

Tiffany can hear how they all still talk about her, remembering those moments and memories together, although she cannot respond, on the other side now.

In Elon's dream, the invading aliens finally used an orange, foggy substance they somehow infused into the air that quickly and safely anesthetized all the mammals within 24 hours.

In Charley's dream, past foes echo ghost barks, yet he doesn't react, eyeing shadows along a dusk sidewalk. The dog knows one from long ago, so he growls recalling the face, but now his kind master is home with a treat, so life is good, loyal protector Charley curled up safe at his feet.

In Kathleen's dream the clock above a vase of elegant white tulips keeps future time, all the room needs and some soft angled light across corner to corner, a certain order to calm the moment, far from the disorder outside, or hide amidst a farmer's market crowd, the Sunday noon sanguine with mood clearly hopeful, and prospects very good.

In Yousef's dream a boy struggles to balance on his bike, then his dad's big hands hold the bars from behind, nearby his mom watches smiling as Yousef becomes alternately both father and son, then the boy shouts with triumphant glee, balanced, finally.  

In space lover Ariel's dream, she awaits the Martian dawn, with darkness dissolving into bright blue sunrise against pale orange sky, with Earth a faint dot twelve minutes away by light beam, Ariel's ticket back, but much to explore like the great Olympus Mons, a night gets you only half-way up, next night summit, but dreams have no such order like the perfectly drawn universe.

In Elie's dream, her sisters Sequoia, Calred, and Coastred, together become night's moving canopy, in sync by constellation and instinct, beneath the comfort of a great mountain, akin to an ancient river carved out of time, Elie's family grows, becomes all she encounters, embraces.

In Maro's dream, rare gem, lucid awakening as happens once or twice a year, she is here, her beloved lake, getaway to a world devoid of stress, she walks along paths lined with sturdy Jeffrey Pine, strong vanilla-scent resin alive in the air, Maro in bliss when here, without touching ground, all about her, peace the only sound.

In Darrel's dream he is in the room of his birth, there is purple smoke rising against curtains, somewhere near there is sobbing, the old neighbor next door plays his country music a shade too loud, Darrel stands on buffed hardwood floors, waiting for some luck, or waiting to be born.

In Luke's dream the lively stream winds along a descending slope, he stands on a rock by the bank, a fish leaps straight up out of the water like a shard of sunlight, cut thru the air as if gravity were a lie. Luke has forgotten his pole again, but it's better, less to tend, then he dozes, second sleep within sleep, that's how it always ends.

In Lara's dream the sea is all gray, the sand light brown, the distant horizon across water a single hand-drawn line. Lara senses a companion but sees no one. She walks along the edge of foam, toes curling into grainy clumps of cold, inhaling salty air, exotic, complex, exhaling twice as long.

In Virgil's dream, someone's right, but it's not him. At work all know, yet if he can just sit quietly in his space, Virgil's bosses will keep walking. Clicking off his monitor to make the air darker, he barely breathes. Outside, an empty metro rushes no one somewhere.