I sometimes dream and see words in my dreams— sentences on paper, signs on a wall, captions above buttons, whatever. The dream words are presented as vague symbols with suggestive meaning but curiously, when I try to focus in and read them they become like hieroglyphics of some ancient or alien civilization, or like an old calculator that’s on its last leg and you get these strange looking marks on the display. What I take from this is ultimately, words are meaningless. Like push pins on a map or even the map itself, they are useful tools that in the end, never really get to the matter— the terrain itself, the experience, that primal essence. Poets use words as a miner uses picks and spades and jackhammers to move through solid earth or like surgeons use knives and saws that cut through flesh and bone in heroic effort to reach our hearts. But as Prospero puts it: We are such stuff as dreams are made on all things being insubstantial in the end. Dream words are as ordinary words and dream stuff is just ordinary stuff. What you think real is just a dream and from this dream into another is all we do and where we go and in the end it’s all just show.
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Maya . Dream words float under eyes. You see them hypnotize the searches for the meaning. Open your eyes the words leave you wondering.
'To sleep, perchance to Dream, aye, there's the rub!' Hamlet
We are all stardust, Pete.