The Flight of Imagination

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Love and dreams are the brew of the nested desires. The dying stardust of the twilight of dreams is the scattering away of feathered desires, sadly. Once crushed, dreams are but ashes of desire, waiting to be rekindled, reborn, like the birth of a Phoenix. To have a crying rose to don it’s petals again. Something that is as good as a miracle only.

In The Great Gatsby, we were shown the pieces, the stuff dreams are made of; desire it is. The dreams of Jay Gatsby and his love, Daisy Buchanan. The beautiful Daisy, fragile as a mere daisy and murky when it came to live any dream and Jay, the Prince of Dreams who believed in the Green Light, the hope to breathe life into dreams. Contrarily, the good natured Jay concocted dreams into eye opening realities. The riddles of love and desire, the desire to attain wealth and unfathomable success and love, which eventually put Jay to death, the dream to always win, the dream to change the past, the dream to get and never part with Daisy. He did not get the real Daisy, not even a flower at a priceless cost of eternal sleep.

Loving the dreamy verses written by the heartbroken poet Yeats,

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Dreaming in a sweet chamber, sniffing the wet petals of little rosebuds, wrapped in instilling fairy rustles around is my favorite dream. Dreams are indeed the loftily clad pieces of a restless soul. They are the beautiful tear drops of the heart and the resonance of desires, I believe.

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Over the years trickling by, many witch doctors, soothsayers, shamans, clairvoyants and warlocks have meticulously weighed, measured, translated and transfixed the thoughtful meanings of dreams in their own subtle words of philosophies and theories.

According to me, dreams do exist.

They are the conjured rays of illusionism and charms. The enchanted keys to prophecies. The road to desire. The aftermath of love and betrayal saga lies and crumbles in the dust of dreams we never try to understand. The turbulences of a human mind constantly oscillate and alter, making it a deeper endeavor to understand “What lies beneath” every dream. Often, during my expeditions to far flung corners, like the ancient city of Rome, I often wander the places, bare-footed, reminiscing about the past and its heartaches. I spend my journey of quietude living on the simplest food, eating only raw fruits or devour chocolates from the bundles of my favorite chocolate boxes I always carry anywhere, and drinking strongly brewed expressos, bundled in throwaway coffee boxes, from nearby cafes, and spend the time carelessly, thinking about the trials and tribulations of life. I often buy handmade candles, stored in intricately fashioned candle boxes, sold popularly in Rome as the good old wives ‘tale of flairs, love and artistry.

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The philosophy and the psychology to unravel the meaning of dreams is best explained by the renowned Austrian neurologist, Sigmund Freud, in my opinion.

Freud deciphered the meaning of a dream to be the root of one’s innermost desires and wishes. He believed that these desires were the manifestations of a soul’s yearning and the constant murmuring of a broken heart.

In his famous book, The Interpretation of Dreams, he discussed the encrusted meaning lying in the symbolism of dreams. For example, seeing smooth walled houses were believed by him to be symbolize men, while those with balconies and other adhering areas of projections would symbolize women. He believed one would see parents as Kings and Queens while children would be symbolized by small animals or vermin’s. If you see water, it might indicate the birth of someone and if you see someone setting for a journey, it might alarm you to witness the dreamed traveler’s death.

Well, wrapping up the shards and clusters of scattered dreams, let’s vow to listen to our dreams and seek the prophecies of our soul’s rambling in the form of a dream. Treat them as the strong inner voice and not as mere as the bare sawdust of a turbulent mind-storm.

Let me know what you believe your dreams to be.

3 COMMENTS

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