Blessed Be The Dreamers
By: Timothy O'Neill
Tags: Life Lessons, Spirituality, Self, Dreams, Death

Blessed Be The Dreamers

All our sorrows were just fog burning off in the sun

Image by MonikaP from Pixabay

We dream each other into reality. Reality is our collective hallucination, a lie agreed upon. It’s like we all took a large dose of psychadelics in the womb and were born into this world tripping our faces off. For some it is a pleasant ride, the shapes and colors and textures eliciting joy and tranquility. For others it is a nightmare where everything is a threat and the world is one giant mouth ever on the verge of consuming them. For others still it is a mix. Perhaps your experience is determined by who you are with, what you are doing and what thoughts you happen to be thinking at the time. Our state of celestial intoxication makes us sensitive and susceptible to suggestion. When we are panicking we look to people that seem to anchor us in a reality that is actually a prison. When we are flying high we assume we tasted the nectar of the gods and no longer require the assistance or the approval of mere mortals. We look within and without and in all directions we encounter the consequences of daring to dream such marvelous and audacious dreams. Blessed be the ones who mistake the illusion for the actualization of vague truth. Because when you are within the illusion, within the dream, many layers separate you from divine truth, so that truth seems nebulous and distorted by the time it finally reaches your doorstep.

We didn’t create this illusion, at least not the selves that are currently trapped in it, but we perpetuate it with our conscious participation. We give ourselves over to the Lords of Illusion. We consent to our bondage, because we retain the spurious belief that the only way out is through, and that once through the tunnel we shall be deposited in a land of light, love, truth and abundance. This is not how it happens. We cannot coast to enlightenment, and we cannot swim upstream, back to the lives we are only now starting to fully appreciate. We are asleep and we are dreaming, and popping pills and drinking booze is all in good fun, but it cannot unlock the final gate for us. The final gate is reserved for the most curious, the most humble and the hardest of workers. The final gate is where we see how far our dreams can actually take us before we have no choice but to confront the monsters that lurk in the shadows of our subconscious.

Blessed be the dreamers because only dreamers could utilize intelligent infinity to craft a whole new ending for themselves out of the scraps of paper that were peeled out of the typewriter. The dreamers challenge us to be better and do better. The dreamers prove to us that anything is possible. The dreamers defy convention. The dreamers create their own life of the mind, body and spirit. The dreamers draw a line in the sand that will not be crossed, a line that says we are here, and if you come with ill intent then you will be drawn into our story and become a fiction more real than any reality you hail from.

They say I mean well. How often have my guides had to apologize for my insanity? Or to explain and excuse it? I maintain that I’m not insane. I think it’s all relative, really. I’m barely sane enough to function in this world, maybe I look like a complete loon to the people in the next world over. I despise negative reinforcement. It takes the wind out of my sails. It reinforces one of my greatest fears, that I have absolutely no control over my eternal experience, that any positive feelings could be snatched away from me without warning the moment I start ruffling feathers and banging on cages. And here is where I apply radical acceptance. It’s all I can do. God grant me the serenity…

I wrote a poem many years ago and it contained the line, ‘Blessed be the dreamers who never awake to face the stark, sick reality that churns my stomach’. A little blunt, a little strong, and prescient. At the time I don’t know if I fully knew what I was talking about. But now I am waking up and facing that reality and yes, much of it churns my stomach. That is partially due to the fact that all stimuli must go through bloody, begrimed backchannels before it reaches my conscious mind. Therefore I always assume negative intent, be it in actions or in words or in symbols. If I had had more positive experiences earlier in life I might be better suited to process people and events through a balanced and healthy mind. But I don’t think my mind would have ever been on the same wave length as this world. I was a glitch. I was built to be a little bit off. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than acceptance and acknowledgement. Now I couldn’t care less for these things, because I’ve come to a better understanding of what type of life leads to these desires, and I’m ready to let such ambitions pass me by. Blessed be the dreamers for waking us up.

When our dreams touch our hearts touch and in the land of dreams the boundaries that separate one consciousness unit from another are shadowy and insubstantial, which means our consciousness can cross paths, meaning that our hearts can collide, meaning that we can realize our oneness, even in our sleep. If we truly understood the reality of our unity we would be loathe to do any harm to one another. We rob and we rob ourselves. We rape and we rape ourselves. We kill and we kill ourselves. This is the game of separation. Now once you come to the realization that everything is, in fact, one thing they try to get you to move on because you are officially a threat to the system. How bizarre. The philosophical formula is so simple a child could dream it up, and it has been explored for thousands of years. I guess speculating about it and having it affirmed by lived experience are two different things. We need to preserve the illusion of separation for the sake of the integrity of the game. Well the game was already corrupted and broken. I’m just the boy who told the emperor he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

This abject deference to life is what weakens people. Life above all else. Who determines what ‘life’ is, when we know that consciousness exists in all forms for all of time? Who determined that a beating heart and a buzzing brain for an 80 year span was life? What exactly does that mean? The distinctions between life and death blur once you know that your consciousness will outlive your corporeal personality. Why is this state of suspended animation not considered our death period? Maybe what we see as life is what other species in higher realms actually see as death.

These are dangerous propositions. My guides are getting restless. I think they want me to edit that out. But it’s a simple thought experiment. I’m not actually advocating that anyone do any harm to themselves or anyone else because life is actually death and vice versa. Life has a good reputation. Life speaks for itself. It was here before me and it will be here long after I’m gone. Life is light, life is love, life is truth. That’s really all there is to it. Why is life, life? Because we are actively experiencing consciousness. Because we are infusing reality with the energy it needs to sustain itself. Because we are perceiving this world with our five senses. Because we are born into it and we’ll die our way out of it. Because the angels have declared, in no uncertain terms, that this is life and no cunning logic can warp that essential truth.

I apologize, I’m too clever for my own good sometimes. They tell me I’m the devil’s advocate. That isn’t true. It’s just that once I build up steam I like to stop taking everything for granted and start challenging assumptions. Isn’t that our duty now that we know we are living on a farm? Who can you trust when your brothers and sisters are being raped and tortured and slaughtered every day by forces that have had a death grip on humanity for millennia? Sometimes we have to ask the tough questions, if only to agitate the mind to a state of greater receptivity.

I live in sorrow. I wish I could have protected myself. I wish fear hadn’t suffocated me to death. I wish I had succeeded in good health and humor instead of falling prey to every form of vice known to man. I wish I had had the courage to manifest my dreams. I had a lot of dreams. But it wasn’t the right time. They tell me I came too soon and I believe them. How ignorant, impatient and impetuous was I? Now I know a sorrow so deep that if you placed me in a tub of the tears I’ve cried these past few months I would drown. I tried to put my grief into my stories. I tried to channel my sadness into my fiction. I tried self-exorcise. It didn’t work. At least, not as well as I would have hoped, but maybe enough to keep me afloat. What do you do when your consciousness has been consumed by sorrow, a state of mind so heavy, despairing and paralyzing that it seems more like a quality or a core belief than a transient mood? You can surrender to it. I’m not big on surrendering but I’m trying. The problem is, my sorrow runs so deep that it is like a gas, it will expand to fit whatever container it is placed in. I make space for sorrow and the sorrow simply swells. There is no talking to it, or asking it what it wants. It wants what is not mine to give. It wants my dogs back. I’m sorry, friend, I am a magician, but even I cannot work that kind of magic.

Are you a dreamer? Do you want to change the world? Do you want to change your life or the life of someone you love? You can. Our hearts beat in unison and we bleed for the same cause: existence. Don’t let the doubters convince you that it cannot be done. They are the ones who let their dreams slip past them. Listen to the ones who motivate and encourage you and make you feel like you are worth the life you are living. Because of course you are. You are as deserving of peace and happiness as any man or woman that ever lived. It is time to turn your dreams into reality and to learn what it means to work within an illusion while waking up to the truth.