Have you ever noticed how most people in dreams don’t have faces? You’ll always think they do but you’ll never be able to grasp what they look like, no matter how well you remember the dream. Made-up place names don’t actually exist. Things you read don’t always have words. People don’t always have clothes, but they don’t not have clothes either. You can’t always describe the face of a random person, or an outfit, or remember the name of a place you visited or something you read. I think it’s because our brains fill in the blanks. It’s like a filter. Our brains know that something should be there, so they just assume and think there is, even if there isn’t.
So what does that mean for people whose faces are clear? The real people you dream about. The people who are reoccurring characters. The people you dream about so much the dreams start telling their own story like it’s a second life. I guess it means they’ve become such a significant and deep part of you, and they’ve left such a mark, that even your subconscious thinks about them. Is that what love is?
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Dreams are the stories
That the unconscious shared with the conscious.
They are haunted with archetype
And vague suggests of contradiction.
The mind is a den of insanity
And the border of known and unknown
Is a turbulent froth if mystery
‘is that what is’. I’m surprised at my own surprises and revelations and feelings and emotions about things these days. As if they let me down, but also surprise me in a way.