I'm glad it was only a movie

Don H

Registered Senior Member
A few nights ago I woke up from a vivid dream
My little boy had drowned..
I excorcised the pathos of the dream by writing about it.
I called it my last family reunion.
I also had clear pictorials of a house that I rendered.
I called it snowed.
Many other detailed fleeting images came and went
without my picturing them or writing.

Tonight I watched The Minority report by Speilberg.
I was much relieved that all the angst, the drowning,
the pictures of the house and more came from the movie.

As Hamlet says to Horatio "there are stranger things..."
These strange things I have come to accept.
I accept that the mass mind has a voice.
It can shout when many are experiencing the same thing
at the same time.
It can whisper one on one.
There are times it is not heard for all the noise.
No they are not voices.
They are the experiences as I would see it.
People have varying degrees of acceptance
so we have various words such as synchronicity,
psychic, prophet or madman.
It depends on your point of view
and personal experience.

Calling it a gift is being too kind.
It has nothing to do with judgement
for I will let the ideas pour out
even when they are of no help to myself or others.
It has caused pain. It has caused suspicion.
It causes misunderstanding.

We are who we are, there is no changing that.
If you are color blind but are gifted in foriegn language
you simply have different abilities than me.
But to see the unquantified, unknown and unfamiliar
often feels like a burden, not an ability.

Some have dared pose the question "madman or prophet?".
It seems more critical than saying,
"color blind or multilingual".
But thats OK.
Tonight I am just glad that it was only a movie
broadcast by millions of minds
at the same time.

And that my little boy is OK.
 
We live in a times where there are no boundaries. Todays sanity is tomorrows insanity. The madman released from the asylum will be king and the wise men of the land will be laughed at and shunned. Truth will be found in poetry and dreams and falsehoods in the laws of the land. We have only faith (in anything) to use as fragile cloaks to protect us from the onslaught. Be strong and hold on until the times sift again.
SweetDreamsMomma
 
The times of shift shall never end.
for time is shift.
but to what end?
The end of time.
The end of the sole I call mine?
Sand blows the altars to dust.
To leave us to die in pitty and in lust.

¨
 
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