I’m Dreaming, or am I

I’m dreaming, of snow-capped mountain ridges outlining the view of valleys less elevated in stature to collect higher givings, receiving snows blanketing the massive protrusions that once dominated the landscape, now encapsulated by larger scopes of reference and the reality that comes with freezing flakes. individuals, stacking upon each other to take the form of another encompassing one who fills the skies and lands with snow, becoming heavier from the sheer volume and intensity drifting and covering as far as eyes may see their loads dropped off and priming areas for a new canvas to begin painting…

Nestled snuggling mountain tops, the fog makes a play to stay on top now.  Laying over and consuming previous white caps comes to a mist to play in the frigid temperatures and making it stay, and grow to new lows that were never intended before.  Forms of haze’s now touching the ground in forms of marshmallow clouds, growing in their containment of previous views and feelings relinquished to them, occasional white tops peeking out to let us know that they’re not intentionally hiding out, but periodic peaks to let you know they’ve not gone anywhere.

Pulling in this panoramic view, to a window separating it from a cat, looking out from a nearby tables’ edge taking in the view too.  Warm inside, looking out at the wonder meant for inner gnowing.  Catseye stalks the view of its potential inhabitants and victims while we scout the entirety of it to observe the fallout from the new conditions and absorption felt conditioning lower and higher levels’ nous.  Aware physicals, cats and hue’s of people, some bewildered in amazement of awe, while predators rest on their roosts and ledges, in wonder if a next meal may be consumed or gained within the process of sitting on their ass and resting on their laurels while eyes contain anything that moves, outside the window.

Deeper eyes draw closure to such predatory views and consume the landscape in its totality with sympathetic acceptance of the all within it brings…two different, opposing views of reality and it’s character developments.  Warriors, aware as a cat, Sympathizers, no-kill zones to mark or fence in, unite to lend nine lives to naturalists not hunting.  Neither a grazer, to be overtaken unnoticeably or on the run, nor a scurrying one while rustling for their next nuts to make a meal of.  Observing the observing, the nuts, and the scurriers, window panes transmute to a pose of the view, and its character study from this perspective.  Larger views, not points of it need be impressed by expressions larger than life or anything possessed within it.

Light as flakes, we snow the grounds and wake the plows from their slumber of warmer, dryer daze.  Floating down from clouds filled beyond their containment, snow lets loose with its bombardment of gentle brushes and flakes caught by tongues and grounds, transforming the land previously parched from none for months.  Watch the white stuff fly, swirl, and grow in its intensity, starting as flakes that start to encase the skies and grounds within the currents floating and flaking around the community to fill all voids and opportunities to catch the freezing drops landing at their own discretions and locations, reasoning is thrown out the window to slush in the mix of gentle white rain that doesn’t drop, but lands, safely to accumulate with others of their type, and freezing in place to stay until defrosted later to quench the earth.

The White brings with it a lighter understanding of tribulations that open up and storm lighter workers, weighing in on their current understandings and bringing them down levels to keep thoughts heavy within their structure.  But why do we join such inner conversations, when you cannot remain light by conversing, only heavier.  With no intention of letting the air out of the entirety, observing takes the helm to release the emotions of any unnecessary engagements or matrimony that tie up good intentions and bank promiscuous lovers to convene in soap operas of the mind.  Snowdrops catch the attention of the locked-up suppression, to open the door for the preservation of the victim.  No bars, nothing caged, just open fields allowing snowflakes to fall and reside on tongues and children, to stop currents and activities.  Look to the sky, and bless the grounding giving opportunity to thank your star for energy beyond itself to nudge, assist, and confound lacking foundations stuck in ruts to change the current climate of closed mental ambiguity.

Open the doors and windows of understanding, unbolt previously locked positioning preloaded by a precession of a human minds’ makings over time, neither one existing until given wings to fly, escape, or comply with the conditions that we give presence to.  Being, not becoming part of it, but Being in the moment, we can clearly see without blinders tying us down and keeping us there, through every fault of our own(ing).  Casting ourSelves, and not knowing it, brings down the energy to converse on lower, thickened levels simply existing and baring what’s brought down upon us…Loosen, unload, as the weights gained through living anchors and docks to the conundrums we all face, if tense inner conflicts are Being supported, rather than thrown out to live on their own, returning when they mature and find peace within.

Ice particles land on the lips, tongues,  and faces with mouths poised open to catch the falling down snow, one by one, taken in and swallowing its presence, of the here and now, and not filling of it.  There’s always tomorrow…for the snow to melt away bringing new climate and conditions, turning freeze into nurturing waters that runoff into nurturing growth opportunities.  As the blinding white snow that used to glow recedes into Oblivion, environments tend to default to previous ones, less the dreaming…of snowflakes feather-weighting the grounds until they’re packed and weighed down before you know it, frozen in-place until thaws come to break down the mass into droplets, of water this time, quenching the environment and nurturing growth, the same substance that snowed us in, now  transforms the entirety to gardens, to plant and sow what the reaper will harvest, snowed-in and cursing it, or playing in the wonder of its tides, ebb and flow, and the presence thawing in currents and moments, of previous hard freezes that cast the perception in-place, until it begins to thaw and consider the mutable essence and life-given opportunities that land as single flakes, noticeable ones, unnoticed when peaks remain covered by drifters, popcorns of endless thoughts and could-be scenarios that routinely covers minds, until the roof caves in due the shearing weight of it all, or freeze-frames depressions in emotional valleys, to remain until warmer understanding thaws the feelings, or until hell freezes over too.  Awaken, time to play in the moments, not survive the plaques confounding humans minds and feelings.  Nothing to weigh down, except an adults call for restriction, should you not come in from it…afterall, they gave up such childish notions long ago, to become responsible adults, and you must two…as One receives dual citizenship…and inclusion into society of such cave dwelling mentalities that paint neanderthal perceptions, histories, and expressions scriptured in tablets and build walls that becoming civilized, resting in their civil obedience, rather than their own seat…the heart of all matter, liberating all beliefs and opinions from obeying what some hue’s of men determine civilized…spirit conquered, another solder agreeing to join the manipulations with scripted repeating rifles of the song that remains the same, joining the casting-down of  others not following, sleeping, nor residing with the enemy…popes’ with black Op’s, priests with eyes for boys, and the Deep always locking, stealing, reconfiguring, and burning at the stake all perceived occult books, findings, and people in their wake libraries that never share these burials or their last-rites to their own congregations…whom never question their authority to divinely inspire such nonsensical preaching scribed by nobles, from a place of fear that doesn’t allow to question the current authorities’ blashphamies.







2 thoughts on “I’m Dreaming, or am I

  1. Ive witnessed snow falling twice in my life and have only seen a thin blanket of the white stuff maybe half a dozen times and already melting. I dont own a scarf or a pair of gloves and my tennis shoes would soak through in the rain on the rare occasion we get any to step in a puddle. Yet upon those rare moments I get to feel like a child who wonderment still wants to catch snowflakes on my tongue or go outside to play in the rain and say wow out loud after a huge clap of thunder. Even though we have sunny daze most of the time I find myself actually feeling the warmth on my skin… Its lovely. The comings and goings of coastal fog clouds and ramdon other clouds, manmade or not, they are my friends who make me smile when they wave while riding by on their dragons and occationally make a heart meant just for me. The birds always stop by to sing me a song and I sometimes feel like Snow White… And now we’ve come full circle!
    The snow falls, the rain drops, the puddle splashes, the wind blows, the clouds drift, the fog lifts, the birds sing, the cats meow, the SunShines… All are conversing in their own way, unlike conversation, it never feels heavier. Welcome to the bliss! Thanks Tre ☀ Your mind is a playground!!

    Liked by 1 person

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