Love, Dreams, & Other Silly Things with Emeric Damian

What Are Dreams But Enchanted Conversations Made Conscious...

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A question I must live with in that…

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A question I must live with in that I always am asking as I observe us, would they be doing that work if they didn’t have to do the work they believe they have to do to live their lives as they wish to live them?

And as I watch everyone moving along in their way, there’s no doubt in my mind we are, the majority of us, doing things with our lives and time that we’d rather not do, but do because we think that’s what has to be done.

It’s always been a waste of life, but only if you see it as such.

I have and yet they will tell you, that you must do it as they do, as that’s the way you are supposed to do it.

You will find yourself in multiple worlds because…

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You will find yourself in multiple worlds, because they already exist, and you’ve already been amongst them.

I’ve been living them, pulling people into new realities, while simultaneously being confused why others stay where they are.

It may have been an entire lifetime so far that I’ve been doing this kind of work, unconscious to me for many years.

It was only a later on realization, and even then, I see that I often don’t acknowledge what’s taking place here.

There is a dream I’m living in, well not really, it’s the revers, the others, not all, but the majority are in there way, characters in a dream.

I’ve experienced many times, the telling of the people that this is a dream, that they can choose the reality they choose, to what extent they can choose I am not sure, perhaps an infinite mess of options lay be for them, but I don’t think so.

It feels finite, like the same meals being served over and over, with a slight change in texture or spice, here or there.

The coincendence, the sychronicities, the knowledge of an experience playing over and over and me in the smame loop seemingly not choosing a different reality but partially creating my own through choice.

It seems to be choice.

But I want to come back for a moment to the idea of the dream and I’ve been wishing to know more, to share the reality that appears more real than the other, though all carry phenomenon.

You circle around in your own life, having the same thoughts, struggling with the same topics, living in the same ideas, a consensus reality that belongs to who, not you.

The dreams speak to me and I keep sharing with myself what I hear, sense, and know.

I’ve shared it with you but it falls flat, not always, but for most.

That’s reasonable, I suppose.

But now we are in a bind of a truth of a kind…

What do you do now?
How do you choose to live now?
Who do you choose to be now?
What do you wake up to now?
How far do you go into breakfast and dinner now?

Life leaved in a new reality is simple to experience.

You turn off everything and leave.

You step into a new reality for a time, in a place where no one knows you, only so you can see for yourself what you already know.

That’s your own adventure.

I build new realities for people, design minds and environments, behaviors and understanding through experience and insight.

This is more of a dream than you know.

The more you live into it the more you come alive to the truth, that “You know.”

But you can’t know this yet, until you step into the knowing itself.

As I say, ‘you walk the path, until the path becomes you, and then you are it’.

Now what?

What if you did everything you knew should…

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What if you did everything you knew should do and stopped doing everything you knew you should stop doing?

What would life look like then?

We are in a bind in that nothing changes even though our experience of it transforms and in this we are looking toward being.

Being matters, and what of doing?

There is a hole in the conversation about…

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There is a hole in the conversation about the future, in a way that creates a magnificent world, and I mean a conversation that doesn’t manipulate the people observing or learning or ingesting the contemplation, and by manipulation I mean the use of music, of false imagery, of specific editing and doing so in a way that isn’t to enhance the conversation but to bludgeon the mind of the observer to crack open a pathway into their mind without their permission of understanding of what it is.

That to me is unacceptable, even though it’s the way of our world, and I mean perhaps so for the entirety of our existence as the beings that we are.

Does it matter beyond fulfilling my own curiosity?

That’s a question that I’ve never been able to completely answer without feeling insincere about my answers as if my answers are not fulfilling my own wanting.

When you live in the question absurdity of a kind comes alive for you.

There’s noting in it, but the need to know what’s true for yourself and thus for everyone else.

It’s comes back to design and creation for the sake of an end, but also for the pleasure of exploration of life and the field itself.

Then you are to get on in your exploration of it and the creation of your work.

Sintra, Portugal, a coffee, a view, the language moving around me and I in thought around consciousness and…

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There are words that take the mind to places it has yet to know exist.
Continually in conversation I hear the wall where one has stopped listening or looking.
How fast we are to stall our search for the things we believe we want to know when the things we want to know are anywhere but in the place we are looking if we are looking any longer to discover the unknown.

Easily frustration will run through my mind while in conversation with others, only at the closed questions they aren’t asking.

I share this in a way to understand my own mind that writhes in muddles of neuronal puddles.

If I am asleep to these things than where am I to fall, other than upon a dull landscape, when with a few breaths and a clearing of contemplation, the dreamscape will present itself to me once again.

And in this way I too will recognize my blindness, which is a necessity for me.

Speaking of blindness, do see with your eyes closed while wide awake, beyond the eye lids?

What I’m getting at is the unknown of my existence, always.

What lies below stays in its own world bubbling up at moments to tap inklings of existence to my conscious mind.

There’s nothing in it to know, because what is once known no longer exists.

This doesn’t mean much once again.

Getting through to my self is what I’m pushing and pulling at

Writing is for this very thing, a clarifying agent of a kind.

For two nights I sat in dreams curios to know what they wanted from me, what they were telling me, and the crushing of the rocks, the falling of the sky, the driving over cliffs and surviving it all barely, night after night, and always with a touch of unsettling ease, has me wondering what the field is speaking.

We’ll be talking more about this in writings to come.

Dreams as truth tellers…
Fields of existence as vortexes and holders of conversations…
Of environments creating creatures…

And the use of it all as a way to explore life itself.