Dream versus work

Most people today are ripped out of their Dream most of their nights by some noisy annoying alarm clock, ending their playful and creative free hours of the day in order to prepare them for work. Some choose to silence their alarm for another ten minutes, for another half hour, but they nevertheless end up going back to work, after a frustrating effort to make their Dream last just a little bit longer.

Back at work the Dream may still haunt some of us, puzzle us with the tiny fragments of it we still remember, although most of it is gone due to the brutal slaughter performed by the alarm clock. And the Dream goes on, through the day, competing with work tasks for our attention. Sometimes when we fall ill, catch a cold or maybe the flu, we say to our inner self: Oh, what a relief! Is this for real? Can I actually finish my Dreams and get up when I want to and do what I wanna do?

What a Dream! What if every day could be like this? What if I could stay home, and care for the people around me or in my community, instead of commuting and caring for other people in other places, while having people from yet other places coming to my home or my community to care for the people I care about? Is this Utopia? Is this just a Dream?

What if freedom meant being free? What if we could all liberate ourselves, so that we all could have meaningful, bioregional and liberal occupations, so that we could all work with the stuff we care about, Dream of the stuff we work with, and then get up and be inspired by our Dream in the things we do the next day? Follow our Dream, set it into play, explore the Dream and the Dream-like states, follow the White Rabbit into the holes, to see how far they go and how far they can take us, how far we can get and how much we can see that is hidden, that is out of sight, that is forbidden.

I was bitten by a Tick the other day in the woods and I slept for sixteen hours straight waking up in my tent with a clear memory of this Dream I had that we were demons. That all the plants and animals saw us and feared us as demons. They may be right.

The scream of the Butterfly.