A dream is a story. We have daydreams and night dreams. Sometimes the storytelling can go on all night. Like any artist, I animate what I remember and shape what is my own story. My story, my memories, lie within me like layers in a compost heap.
All experiences enter into our senses and fall into the center of our enclosure.
The faculty of memory is like a centrifugal force within us. Everything enters, but only some memories cling to the vessel's wall. The rest fall down into the richness of the compost heap. There they become the fertilizer, the loam. They enrich the earth of the imagination.