Archive for the ‘Dreams’ Category

Lately when I close my eyes I have been seeing the same thing over and over again? The vision and the nightmares which follow always remains the same. When I close my eyes it starts out with blackness with vague splashes of white light. Soon the flashes of light disappear and there is nothing except the dark. I walk endlessly in this darkness making out formless shadows, until I see a flicker of light in the farthest of backgrounds. I walk towards this light until I can just make out the vision of a chair and a television. I cannot see what is on the television but I can see the faint splashes of color. I walk towards this chair and television, but somehow it seems like I am not even moving. The image seems to stay at the exact distance no matter how far I travel. Eventually I tire of the journey and fall asleep.

Over the last few weeks I have been having the most horrendous nightmares night after night. The nightmares are always different but share two common themes. The first theme is I die in every one of them. Prior to this most recent rash of dreams I always believed it was impossible to die in a dream, but I now know this to not be the case. The way I die is different from dream to dream, but the feeling and sensation I experience are exactly the same. Once I die I experience nothingness, just pitch black then a terrifying void of nonexistence. I immediately wake up in a panic with my body dripping with sweat.

The other common theme is the man who is in my dreams. I feel I should give a brief history of this man since he has been with me since I was ten. I was in the fifth grade and living with my grandma at the time when one night I had the most frightening dream. I remember this night and the subsequent events which followed me like it was just yesterday. The brief synopsis of the dream went like this.

We just moved into this new house and while we were given the tour by the realtor we came across this metal door with six locks. Along with these six locks were an additional six pad locks. We asked the man if he had the keys to this door. He chuckled and said “no but there is nothing in there and we had no need to not go in there.” I went to bed and woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As I was walking down the hall I crossed the door and all locks were undone and the door was slightly opened. I had this sense of fear with a sense of curiosity. I opened the door and entered the room. What I saw next is burned into my mind. The room was empty and cold. The walls were covered in blood with designs and various different phrases. In the center of the room there was a man sitting in a chair with his back turned to me. The man was rocking back and forth, and mumbling words I couldn’t understand. I could see his hair it was long, black and greasy. All of a sudden with a blink of an eye the chair turns around and this man is staring at me with his cold black eyes. He gets out of his chair and runs towards me grabbing me by my shoulders and says “dead is better.” I awoke immediately and as I turned to look at the door I could see the man standing there saying “dead is better.”

I was in such intense fear I went straight away to wake my grandma up. I remember that entire morning I was shivering and I wouldn’t leave my grandma’s side. The following nights I was afraid to fall asleep in fear of having a reoccurring dream about this man. Since that night I have had nightmares about this man. He is the personification of evil. There have even been times I have thought I have seen or heard him during the day. I remember this one time I thought I saw him during class. I remember freaking out because I thought I saw him outside. I was so afraid I made an embarrassing scene in class. It has been years since I have dreamt about this man; now I dream about him every night, and when I awake I can still hear him speaking to me.

“What if nothing exists and we’re all in somebody’s dream?”
Woody Allen

This manner of thinking has been the center of many of my psychosis throughout life. When I begin to take baby steps further away from what is real. At this point reality and fantasy begin intertwining with one another. When I am dreaming I believe I am awake, and when I am awake I suppose I am dreaming. This gets very complicated because my dreams are so vivid they feel like everything is so real. When I am consumed in this mode of thinking, I get more and more mixed up. Pretty soon I am crossing each reality over and over. In a dream I may be referencing something from when I was awake, and while I am awake I am referencing dreams. This criss-crossing of realities gets awfully confusing.

One (out of many) reoccurrings thought I have been having is if I in my current state exist, or am I just an entity inside of someone’s mind or dream. I am able to battle this frame of thinking with René Descartes “Cogito ergo sum” (I think therefore I am.) If I am able to formulate thought then I cannot be inside someone’s dream because dreams do not have imagery with individual thought. I would think this is far to complex to be a fabrication inside of someone’s mind. This may be possible if I myself am the individual dreaming. If this dreamer is dreaming me as an alter ego to themselves then it would be only natural that I would have thought since this individuals mind is thinking through me in the dream state. My dream self could realistically wake up as a butterfly who had just dreamed of being a human. This is may seem doubtful, but is a very realistic possibility. In thinking I am only establishing that I have thought, but whether this thought constitutes reality could be up for debate. 

Descartes goes on in his book “Meditations on First Philosophy” to say that just because I am able to validate my existence I cannot prove the existence of others. This messes with me because it draws me to believe that reality is something I may never be able to prove. I could very well be in a dream, or I could very well be a memory somewhere in my mind. What I am doing right now feels as real as anything, but is that not so for dreams. When I am dreaming I do not question the reality I am in, unless I am amidst the psychosis I mentioned earlier.

I know or at least I think I can prove I really exist and I am not in someone’s dream by applying cogito ergo sum, but this to may be misleading. The mind is a powerful thing, and who really knows if it can or cannot produce five or five thousand different individual thinking dream people. If this is the case then this concept does not apply, and I have no way of proving whether I could be dreaming, or a fabrication in someone else’s dream. Who knows if as I type this I am actually resting snuggly in my bed? Who knows if you the reader are actually fabrications within my dream?

When I was plagued with these questions as a teenager and young adult I would focus on the mantra “I think therefore I am.” This brought me back to a supposed reality where I was able to find a baseline. Descartes was the first philosopher I read, so I took his writings as philosophical fact. I turned his musings into absolute truth. As I got older and discovered many other view points and the many different possibilities I have a harder and harder time finding absolute truth within this statement. The question whether I actually exist in physical form cannot be proven; therefore I am left with trying to find what is real. I could very well be deceased and I am living in purgatory just reliving my life. Who really knows the absolute truth behind this conundrum? I personally do not think my existence can be proven, and I do not think your existence can be proven either.

Do you remember the feeling you had after watching movies such as “Shutter Island,” “The Sixth Sense, or “The Others?” This feeling where the whole story just seems to flip on you, where everything that was is now wasn’t. These types of twists are mind fucking adventures, and I love them. I remember thinking to myself after watching “Shutter Island” that nothing of this magnitude could ever happen to me… I was wrong.

I just discovered the greatest mind fuck of my life. My wife made a comment on a post I did last week where I said I was basically kicked out of Crown College. My wife sent me an e-mail and said I was never kicked out of that school so why would I say that? I sent her an e-mail back going over the situation which occurred and questioned her memories of this situation. She then informed me I dropped out because my mental status had worsened to the most dangerous of levels. I immediately told her to stop messing with me, and relayed that this is not a funny joke. She proceeds to tell me she is not joking, and is indeed very serious. This was my Shutter Island moment.

I am really bent by this because I have no recollection of what she is talking about. I literally have no memories of this scenario she had laid out, and what’s worse is my reality which once was is now wasn’t. One of my symptoms of my mental illness is memory loss and or confusion with my thoughts. My thoughts can get jumbled and I will interpret what I hear or see differently than most. I know I have had issues in the past where the combination of dreams, media, and real life get melded together to form an altered reality. I am now in a state of what is, and what is not. This causes me to blur these alternate realities together where I cannot tell one from the other. Perhaps I was in such a state and took memories from my dreams and supplanted them into what I now know as reality. This is really twisting me up inside because this calls to question how much of my memories are even real memories, or which ones were supplanted into my mind. I then need to question the reality I am in at this moment while I am writing this. Is this what is, or is it what is not? Is what I remembered from yesterday what is, or what wasn’t?  

I try not to think of this very often because frankly it is mind numbing. I enjoy this topic on a philosophical level, just not on a personal one. It is as if I am looking at hundreds of puzzle pieces from many different puzzles mixed together. I then have to somehow put these pieces together to form one puzzle. This is hard to explain if you have never experienced it or lived with someone who has, but it’s almost like déjà vu, but what you think you have already done before, really happened on television, in a movie, a dream, or something that has happened to someone else. It is almost as if this cross fires my brain into creating something that is not.

I have had this fractured memory in my head for seven years. This means for the last seven years I have been living a lie. I want to sit down with everyone who is close to me and unload my memories to see what is and what isn’t. I am haunted by not knowing my true reality. I wish I knew the exact reasons my mind created this alternate reality in my head, and was strong enough to have me forget months of my life. I was in a panic and called my therapist a few times to get some advice on this. She finally called me back on Friday to council me. I laid out the situation to her, and explained I was in a panic not knowing what is real and what isn’t. She told me this scenario was normal for people who reach intense mental breakdowns, and often causes the subject to create false memories.

I felt better after the call to at least know what I was experiencing was normal on a mental illness level. I am still left wondering what reality is, and which other of my memories are not real. I suppose I will only be able to find the right pieces of the puzzle by checking with those who are close to me regarding memories I have. This still does not cure the way I shape reality. I think what it comes down to is I will always be in a state of what is not, but I suppose since this is reality to me, then what is real is; so I shouldn’t worry about it.

Even though I know very little about it; I just can’t help but love poetry. I love the way I am able to express my inner most emotions and capture them on paper. I am not educated on what the various forms of poetry are; I just write. When I was younger I would write a few then toss them aside, but I would share them with very few people. I would get words stuck in my head, these words were so intense and jumbled I would have to grab a piece of paper and just write them down. I never kept anything that I wrote, but I wish I would have. I also used to write short stories, but sadly those were tossed as well. In college I would get stoned out of my mind and write some kick ass papers. I some how managed to get A’s on 95% of them. I really wish I would have kept them, especially my papers which basically got me kicked out of a Crown College (A private Christian school.) I only just started keeping my writings, and thanks to the wonderful internet I am able to share them with whoever stops by.

I was first turned onto poetry when I read the book “Where The Sidewalk Ends” by Shel Silverstein.  I loved everything about this book. The way it flowed and captured my imagination was fantastic. I vowed in my young dreamer way that someday I would write poetry that would appear in a book. My other inspiration which enthralled me was the Dr. Seuss books. His books seemed so magical. I wanted to write stories that emulated that certain flow which made his books so great (I sort of modeled my children’s books off his style.) I was later influenced by Dylan Thomas, Sylvia Plath, Jim Morrison, and Edgar Allan Poe  to only name a few. These inspirations made me want to be a writer. This was always a dream I have had, but never thought anything would ever come of it. It was one of those things you store deep inside. The only time it is mentioned is in a “wouldn’t that be great” conversation.

As I grew up I still held onto this dream of becoming a writer, but focused very little on honing my craft. I cannot remember the last grade I was in where I was really present and trying. I was a space case who cared little about school; because of this I learned very little about grammar and sentence structure which still stunts me to this day. I remember in fifth grade I wrote a short story about something or other. I handed it in and I remember the teacher making a comment about how someday I would become a writer. I do not remember this teacher’s name, but her words have been the words that have always kept the fire burning inside of me. I bet you she probably doesn’t even remember making that comment; yet I carried her words with me for twenty years, and it has given me hope.

So now here I am. My first book was published by a shady publishing house so I consider that work gone, and I do not consider this as an accomplishment because technically my book wasn’t really published. I self published my next two poetry books which is great but it is not the same feeling as having an agent tell you one of the larger publishing houses has agreed to publish your work. Poetry is a dead art form and there is not much demand for it these days. I think most current poets don’t even bother trying to publish their work; they are just content with it being on their blog, or on one of the many poetry websites. Seeing your work on a computer screen is nothing like seeing your book in print.

I haven’t been able to write any kind of poetry since I published those last two books I think that was back in September. I went through a similar drought after my first book got published. I think what happens is it is emotionally draining process. I tap into the sap of my soul and pour out the love and pain in my life. When I start writing I just can’t stop it is like one right after the other it is truly a magical experience. The problem is I just don’t know how good my stuff is. I have received a handful of reviews located on my website http://thephilosophyofme.com/book-reviews.html. One of my favorite reviews which aren’t located on my website is from Simone at http://spontaneousoverflow.com/wordpress/?p=1751, Even though this review does not necessarily paint my writing in the most positive light; I still seem to like it. I would love to take several writing courses at schools to hone my skills. I think my mind is a perfect tool it is just dull at the moment.    

I wish I lived during the time when poetry was considered an art, and heralded by the people. I have been doing research and literary agents will not represent poets, there is just no market for it. This sucks because I am currently working on three other poetry books, but I am getting to the point where I say to myself why even bother putting in the time for something that will never be read? The question I have is should I continue to work on my poetry projects or just focus on something different? I am really excited about my Tao Te Ching poetry book. I think this one will be my best yet, but should I even take the time? I really think the only way I am going to find readers is through doing live readings; which I hope to do my first few in January. I figure this will be the test to really gage if my work is any good. My goal is to get a local following, and one day become the main headliner, if I am able to do this then I can take some satisfaction that my work has not fallen on deaf ears.

I have never responded well to conventional therapy, for some reason I can not stick with it. My logical thought behind that is in therapy you are forced to see who you really are. I already loath my existence and to discover more flaws about myself is only that much more earth shattering. I know I will never be good enough as a husband, father, and person.

This is why I get tattoos, I hope when I put art on my body somehow it improves me as a person. The same is true with expressing myself through piercings, or an anti-conforming appearance. I do these things to disguise and change the piece of shit I am. When I am lucky enough to get one of these things it makes me feel better about myself.

I have no self-worth of who I am. It is so painful knowing you fail in every aspect of your existence. To look in the mirror and hate your own reflection. Everything I touch; begins to decay and eventually dies. With all these things I continue to open my eyes in the morning. Why? If the world knew how I felt inside; there would be a mercy killing. I do not know how to go on. I am unable to weep, because my tears are contained within this stone wall. I am unable to feel joy, because of my thorn shackles.

I have found three coping methods, which allows me to tap into my inner feelings. It acts as the glass against my wall. The trifecta is music, the Tao, and writing. It is these three things which allows my tears to flow, find internal strength, and express myself without judgement. Like the drugs I have drowned myself in, these things only work when they are soaked into my existence.

I write because I need to. I would love nothing more than to be heard by the masses. I am a realist and know my dreams will never come to fruition, like so many things in my life is a hollow dream filled with false hopes. I wake up from this dream, and realize it is what it is; a dream. It has no barring in reality.

I still write, because I continue to follow this delusion that I have talent. There are millions of people who blog, and try to write books, and there are millions who fail. My history of failures only ensure the same outcome. I still write, because for a moment I feel relief. Everytime I metaphorically kill myself it stops me for a moment of literally becoming free.

I find internal strength and hope in being a better man through the Tao Te Ching. This to is short-lived unless I study, reflect, and write everyday. When I leave the words of Lao-tzu the Tao leaves me, and I become what I really am.

No words, no force, no false self-worth can change fate; no matter how many times I try to delude myself. For a fleeting moment my thorn shackles are off and I am allowed to roam these four walls. I try to find an escape. I see the blood and realize an exit doesn’t exist; I end up yearning for the pain my shackles bring.

Music allows me to cry in private, not to show my weakness to a cruel unforgiving world. It is in the words, the arrangements, and feeling which truly touch me. I find myself and lessons within song. I find sadness, strength, and hope. I experience another fleeting moment of serenity which is short-lived no matter how long I listen. I admire their talents and gifts.

All these things mean nothing. It is a vapor from which I desperately try to grab a hold of. It is the ghost of hope, the fairy tales of religion. I used to fear cancer to a point of panic. I welcome and pray for this black death. I deserve the suffering it will bring. No matter how many times I yearned for the peaceful hand of the reaper, I feared the loss of my existence. I no longer fear the reality of a hand which will not greet me.

Some may read this and feel concerned, some may call to see how I am, and others may offer words of encouragement. Please save me the embarrassment of hearing lies. Concern from those who do not care is meaningless, calls from those who don’t will fall on unanswered lines, and encouragement from those who know nothing of my four walls will mean nothing.

Lost in song, words of old, and I write. For now I cry, for now there is hope, for now I am not judged, for now I am.

Two days ago I posted a blog entry on this site  from my website  www.thephilosophyofme.com. The entry was a philosophical entry inspired from one of my many favorite quotes from Edward Abbey.

“A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government.”

I wrote about how important it was for Americans to open their eyes and see how our government continually lets us down. Our Constitution opens up with “WE the People.” This country has completely lost this meaning. WE continue to elect officials who are “in it for themselves,” because of this we get what we vote for. I know there are honest politicians who generally want to move this country forward. These honest officials are over matched by their peers, and their opportunity to make real progress is lost in the Capital Hill status quo.

In my post the other day I received some comments from my favorite and most active reader; The Rambling Taoist (he can be read at ramblingtaoist.blogspot.com I highly recommend his blog.) He informed me, that with all the bullshit in politics it is a futile dream to expect real change. He spent 15 years of his life, trying to make such change and came up empty.

My response was quoting him the famous Taoist saying “A thousand mile journey begins with a single step.” He gave me such advice on a different issue a few weeks back. I feel the American people have been so indoctrinated into being consumer slaves, they become complacent with life and the status quo. If WE were able to form as a people; over time WE would take our country back.

I would give up my longshot dream of becoming a full-time writer to know one day this dream would become a reality. I would love to be alive to see this day, but if it took 75 years I would be at peace with the outcome. To know I was a part of making OUR country great again would be the greatest honor.

I know there are people in this country who feel the same way, but they suffer from the concept of “what can I as an individual do?” I am confident if enough people would listen and see the truth they would stand up and demand they be served by their elected officials.

If WE look through history all great empires crumble. If WE truly see where are country has gone, WE can see… history will repeat itself. Our country began deteriorating from within long ago, and because of lack of knowledge the people of this country have allowed it to happen. It is because of greed and the pursuit of the all mighty dollar; our country has fallen apart while other countries have grown and prospered. WE are hated around the globe, and WE have no one to blame but ourselves.

The Peoples Republic should be self funded by the people. We should have no need to accept money from those who are determined to destroy this once great nation. WE need to start at the state level and begin electing those who are for the people. WE need to work ourselves up from the lowest positions until we have moved and taken over the highest positions. This can be accomplished if we band together and form as one. I can guarantee once the two evils see real change is coming they will have no choice but to straighten their crooked paths less they be forced out of power.

WE can no longer elect charlatans who run their campaigns on lies and empty promises. How much longer can WE as a nation continue down this same old path? How many times are we going to fall for these hollow words. The majority of America (the dying middle class) have given up on the prospect of change; so much so they have refused to even vote. The right of voting is crucial to our government, yet the ones who vote are the corrupted church, the wealthy, and the uneducated who continue to believe lies.

It is coming together,  standing in unity, and striving for change. Our forefathers had the strength to stand up to their oppressors, and built our country around ensuring this type of oppression never happens again. If it does they gave us the right to stand against it. We can no longer stand by and let our given freedoms be taken from us. Unity and courage will result in rebuilding this once great country. Whether it takes 5 or 75 years, we have the power to make a change, if we only have the courage to change it.

The events over the last 6 months has opened up many doors for me. I was able to realize my life long dream of becoming a published author. This accomplishment gave me the courage and confidence to attempt some other personal dreams. I was able to create a website, albeit a pretty lame one but a website I can call my own. I started a daily blog, and I founded The Bucket List Foundation. Since all these things have happened the creative flood gates have been opened which has given me the motivation to start other book projects. The following are the current projects I am working on. Due to my ADD I need to work on multiple projects, because I grow board with working on just one at a time.

Dylan Thomas: This is a children’s book series written in poetry form. The goal is to create stories which appeal to ages 2-10. I want the rhyming and lush drawings to not only draw the kids in, but also make the stories enjoyable for the parents as well. I have completed the first story, but I have run into a wall with an illustrator.

The Definitive Theology Timeline: This is a working title. My goal is to track religion from its conception and its evolution into what we know today. I intend to include every possible religion I can. I am not going to go into great depth on each one, just some basics like creation stories, Gods, messiah, end-times and the basic belief system. I am guessing each chapter will be about fifteen to twenty pages. I am around 200 pages deep into this with a long way to go.

Deceived: (working title) This book examines how the Christian religion has allowed itself to be destroyed by the word of man. You would be amazed how much the bible has been changed to not only create copyrights, but to change the originally meaning of the “Word of God” to fit mans needs.

The Mind of a Madman: (working title) This is a novel written in poetry form describing the inner workings of a psychopath, starting from the time of conception up until… the rest will be a surprise.

The Philosophy of Me: The life and mind of no one special: This will be a book based of 365 days of my blogging experience. I am unsure if a blogger has created a book based off a year of their posts, but I thought I would give it a try. If nothing else perhaps I will create more exposure to my cause.

Finally I am working on two other poetry chapbooks, which at this moment in time have no names. The goal is to self publish then shop the manuscripts to publishers and literary agents.

People throughout the world have dreams and aspirations of becoming this or achieving that, unfortunately some realize their dreams and others do not. Many of us get sucked into the day to day demands and our dreams get put aside; filing it away for a later date. My dream has always been to become a published full-time writer. Prior to a month ago I found myself shelving this dream under the “This will never happen so why bother” file.

Starting a family at such a young age caused me to focus on making money to pay the bills, and my daily activities involved making sure we could do just that. My focus to the best of my ability was focused on my family. I honestly never thought I would amount too much except being a father and husband, nor did I think any of my personal dreams would come to fruition. I have always loved writing, prior to heading down this path I would write small poems on a scratch paper and toss them in the garbage. I always thought poetry was an extinct art and would lead me nowhere. Little did I know the events that started as my downward spiral resulting in a suicide note to my family would become a published book. The confidence of my book being published gave me the confidence to start this blog. I am now working on other projects to further my writing career.

I am in the first year of my 15 year plan, and to be honest with you I did not expect anything to happen with my book, and I expected nothing to happen with this blog. I have such low self-esteem of myself and this low self-esteem makes me think I will fail in everything I set out to do. In my perceived failing; my 15 year plan would become yet another disappointment in a long line of failures. To my surprise things are working out a little differently.

I did my first newspaper interview about my book, with my local paper. I was so nervous leading up to this. While I was doing the interview it all felt so surreal. I could not understand why anyone would be interested in anything I do or have done. When it was all finished I had a strange sense of accomplishment. I was able to open up my book of goals and check something off. It was such a glorious experience.

I have this strange feeling, something I am not used to. I have this feeling of joy, and a very strange sense. The exact feeling escapes me, and I am having trouble identifying it… The feeling is pride, I can not remember the last time I was proud of myself. It is a great feeling, and a feeling I hope to build on.

**Since this publication in February 2010 I have published my first children’s book “Dylan Thomas: Finds His Courage,” with another one due out in early 2011. I have also finished my next two poetry books “Yin” and “Yang.” These titles will be available in October or November 2010. I have done two additional interviews, and soon I will start doing readings at local coffee shops. I also started “The Bucket List Foundation.” It amazes me how things have been working out. I am still not a full-time writer, but I would have to say I am on my way.**

Friday was the release date for my new book “My Descent into Madness.” I am very excited because I poured my heart and soul into this book. I do not have delusions of grandeur and think that I can now just quit my job and wait for the money to pour in. This is a poetry book, and not many people read poetry now a days. The link to purchase the book is at the bottom of this post. I am currently working on two other books. The first is a children’s book, it is all written I am just waiting for the artist to complete his part. The other book I am going to keep secret for now, but I have a feeling that this one will kick ass!
The publishing company; PublishAmerica are crooks and thieves. They have given me empty promises and spew out lies. I started a Facebook campaign. I hope this will generate some interest, beyond that I am stuck on what to do next. I think the best route would be to try and promote this in my area. I am thinking if I make up some business cards, and contact local media perhaps I can generate more buzz. I am working on doing a reading at local coffee house. I would be so pumped if that panned out.

I am going to include a review of the book. Review taken from http://ihearditonthegrapevine.wordpress.com by Karen Mason

Wow! This collection of poems is not recommended for someone wishing for some light reading. Lundmark’s book reads as an ode to the American Dream gone wrong. Most of his poems are dark reflections on mental illness and a man struggling to cope with the society in which he lives. “Bring Our Troops Home” and “Here” examine the futility of war and how America (and indeed the UK) is wasting money sending young men to their deaths while economic problems back home are being ignored. “The 1st” deals with religion, highlighting that no one is right and no one is wrong.

The poems are harrowing and stark in places.

Lundmark is honest and his sentiments will resonate with many. Although I wouldn’t recommend buying this book for your maiden aunt at Christmas – Wordsworth it ain’t. It’s a bleak look at modern society, except for the beautiful poems at the end dedicated to his children and the book would be more suited to someone who liked to ponder the human condition than someone wanting pretty words.

3 Stars

If you are interested in getting a copy of this book, please e-mail me at thephilosophyofme@yahoo.com