Dreams

She told me to write a book

So…

It’s about some memories I have… 

A book of dreams.

Never Ending Dreams

Volume: 1

By Nicholas Buekea 

(Inspired By Tuesday Faust)

1: Dive Into Darkness 

2: Balloons Being Locked Down by Pins

3: Floating, Flying on a Date

4: A Dream Existing as a Person named Stephen 

5: The Alien Device 

6: Jail and Hospital Retreat 

7: Crème 

8: A Rare Feast

 9: Bears 🐻

10: Pink Bunny 🐰 

11: Wanting to Step Back

12: Dreams we don’t talk about

13: MLK has a Dream

14: Engii

15: Is everything always just a way to calm down?

16: When I was a boy I was too lazy to imagine heaven, depriving myself of both the momentary earth and, “what’s in the box”

17: Do planets dream?

18: 4 Miniatures (x-rated, skip chapter if you don’t like cuss words)

19: A bubble of thought vs a bubble of dream

20: DREAM

21: For All (Trigger Warning for Violence)

22: Geno

23: Sapient Prophecy

24: Marijuana

25: This book is cognitive behavioral therapy. It’s journaling.

26: Pain

27: Aging and Addiction

28: Christ

29: The Jesus Herb

30: I wrote a suicide letter in the darkest of times. Thank god my friend was there to read it with me. Thank god I had no money. I was going to buy a ton of mushrooms, and jump off of a building. This is what I wrote….

31: The forbidden act, Sexually Explicit (Skip Chapter if you don’t want sexual imagery)

32: Fortitude/Castle

33: Mario

34: Hurting the Friend  

35: Dream of the two Lovers

36: A Land of No Return

37: I married the Woman of my Dream

Chapter 1: Dive Into Darkness 

Swimming in the ocean can be scary. Swimming in the ocean 🌊 in darkness, even scarier. The islanders are not afraid of water, but even we have our insecurities when it comes to the depths. 

So I dove into the beast, a water monster, jaws wide open. I didn’t dive thinking I could survive. I dove knowing it was impossible to avoid. Like love. 

The funny thing about dreams is that you’re equipped with a sort of separation, well physical separation, of things like pain, but you can definitely still feel the pull of emotion, be it the thrill or the dread, the fear or the beauty. Perhaps pain reminds us of our attachments to this earthly realm, but dreams …

Dreams don’t spare you the spiritual touch. You might be relieved of any damages done to your physical shell, even after a long fall, or a shot to the head, but our dreams can still leave impressions, 

So as I dove, believe me that I felt terrified.

Into the beast. Its mouth wide open, a colossal shark 🦈, I dove into its giant mouth.

The only way forward —was into the darkness. They say, for us islanders, that it’s taboo to eat sharks. This is because eating something that could have eaten your ancestors, is like eating your past, something we do not feed from, only the future is taken for nourishment.

I dove into the beast’s mouth and kept going. It was blacker, darker, emptier than any void. But I was still with my thoughts, maybe dying as I dove, as the life from my past faded.

I could draw out the distance it took, maybe a day, maybe the span of eternity, but just know it was deep, as deep as I could get, not knowing what or if there was an end.

As the dive continued, the dread began to vanish, maybe it too had an end; after all emotions were depleted, I had reached it. Perhaps, what poets, philosophers, shaman call the true end of the line, Nirvana. I had arrived. 

It was a gift. 

There might be a reward for being swallowed by life, there might be a treasure, if this dream can teach me anything, because what appeared was not only seen, as most dreams have some sort of REM sleep visual component, but it was felt, euphoric. 

It was warmth, a radiant goddess dancing, like a flame, glowing more profoundly against the emptiness that I had endured, an oasis of light after being fully denied of color. 

They say black is a color, and this is true, so when I say devoid of color, which might be hard to imagine, think of the thoughtless, while still observing the dimension of existence without existing. It was the contrast of beauty, of love from out of the nothingness that I found the rhythm of life. The relief from the strange fear of not knowing —the liberation from singularity , from solitude , into the creation of a profound dancing enchantress, a mantra of the Divine. 

I know that after death, like a dream, there is the blossoming from the black stem, a rose 🌹 flame that is too hard to not be curious about, too unavoidable, as we are courageously compelled to keep diving, deeper into the beast, because there is no other way. 

Do not fear this tunnel of death. 

There, she will be waiting, after you lose breath. A goddess glowing, dancing in the void. 

Chapter 2: Balloons Being Locked Down by Pins

There is a certain nature to the Bee 🐝 , no wonder they are connected to royalty, to blossoming spring, and to the sweet nectar of love, honey 🍯. Honey drips like time, feeding the baby kingdom, the cute little larvae that have yet to spread their wings and get to work. 

They do god’s good work releasing the pins that are keeping the balloons 🎈 locked down. Us humans, we’re the creators of such devices, pins that keep balloons locked down, “for our own safety,” and “for the safety of society.” —but is it really fair of us to pick and choose which balloons should be free, and which we should pin down?  

Sydney’s pet bee had other ideas as it was found lying on the floor, outside of its jar  —it seemed to have sacrificed its life for the order of things beyond human control. 

As Sydney’s friend Sandra got home from work, she explained that she swatted at a bee in fear. This was at gym where she works, something of a warehouse where pins are made—upon hearing the news,  Sydney rushed over to her own pet bee, finding that it had gotten out of its jar 🫙; Sydney keeps the pet bee in a jar, but for the longest time it has always known how to get out when it really wants to. The bee just stays home, because it likes to observe Sydney’s quirks; a fair trade off for pretending to be hers.  

Sydney was distraught by her injured bee, so she asked to bring it to dinner with Powell; Powell is known to be somewhat of an aloof healer, somehow giving people second chances.

Powell brought Martin to the dinner, because he likes Martin. Martin also enjoys the idea of getting to know Powell, so he accepted an invite to Sydney’s dinner. 

By the time Powell presented his thesis to his classmates at Sydney’s dinner, on consensus reality, the Bee was revived and began to flap its wings, it was only injured. It flew off, perhaps ready to get to work, making sure to chase away any more pin 🧷 holders, machines  that keep balloons locked down.

Balloons must be free, even the bad ones.

Powell was going to be fired for having nightmares, which is why the company debated keeping the dream balloons locked down ; the societal leaders were damning balloon energy and deciding which ones to release, but the bee 🐝 caught wind and found it destructive to pick and choose. The company was manufacturing consent of imagination and hoarding imagination’s energy, disrupting nature. 

Meanwhile Powell wanted to get to know Martin on a romantic level so he asked if Martin was flirting with him, in order to establish clear communication. Martin denied flirting, with a simple and elegantly concise, “no, I’m not.”

Chapter 3: Floating, Flying on a Date

There are some friends who cut deep. These are the friends that will always be a part of your life, even if you never see them again, a lot like dead parents. But a lot like dead parents, these friends cannot escape the pull of the dream world when they are needed to be found. Sure this world can get caught up in its own mechanisms of surviving the mundane, of growing materially apart with goals leading in separate directions, but true bonds cannot escape the dream line. 

So she appeared to me in a dream after so many failed attempts at trying to connect with her. We had made our earthly impact on one another in our early twenties. I witnessed her transition from some dood to some babe, and I was the first friend she told other than her mother, while she began her journey toward herself; I will forever feel honored and grateful to be with her during that sacred time of revelation. 

The thing is, even after all the trust we had built together as friends, I was still a perverted man, not fully formed, as I am still forming my relationship to my attraction to the divine feminine. When she started presenting her true self, I think I fell from love into a layer of physicality, into the clutches of lust. I remember making an advance on her, not physically, but with my words. I had crossed into the river of sexual attraction to taste the viper’s venom, but that was not what we knew each other to be. I was immature. Had I known it would send a flow of intimate energy down her spine, whether or not she enjoyed the feeling, had I known my words had that sort of sacred touch to them, to make her shiver, then I surely would not have tested the “charm.” 

You see, it’s not that I crossed a boundary explicitly, but it was something of an impulse that I said, along the lines of “I would let you suck me so hard,” OR “I would suck you so hard,” the order of who was doing the sucking irrelevant to the impulsivity. I even felt obliged to preface the saying with, “can I ask you something, but it might be pretty sensitive,” for which she thought she could trust me, but even with her permission to use my words, I must have known it was wrong, because after she shivered, i asked if she was OK and I apologized. I had drawn a sacred blade from the sheath. I had drawn against the true friendship we had. And I had changed things. No longer was I her brother, no longer was I her friend, I was a shooter. I was a potential figure of lust that neither of us had experienced from one another, nor did I have the proper way of allowing the energy to not just bust through the seams of my lips in the way it did. 

So with this as the backdrop, we slowly drifted from one another. Sure she would text me from time to time, even go so far as to say she loves me back. We still have a strong bond, but I still wonder if I changed things between us those years back. We were absolute allies, and she was the first to even practice radical acceptance towards me and towards others. She is loved no matter where she goes and she is a genius, truly a genius–musically, but morally, fundamentally, and there isn’t anything she can’t learn when she wants to learn it. She is the reason I got so far in life making my own music, and we have a few songs together, one of which being my favorite song of all time (other than Veridis Quo). 

I remember the beautiful twenty dollar bill that we found in the summer, right outside of the liquor store, that we used to buy a bottle right then and there. As for making music, we would smoke weed, drink red wine, and take adderall during the epic all nighter of the song we created. I remember getting dropped off by my then fiancee, like a boy gets dropped off at his favorite friend's house; it was a night to remember. I walked back home at 5 a.m. and could not stop listening to our creation.

Yeah, that’s the kind of bond we had. So when it takes forever trying to reach someone you truly love, be it for mistakes and betrayals, be it for life circumstances and differing paths, the dream world pulls you back together.

It was a beautiful date, it was daylight. I was learning how to fly a cardboard box outside of my old childhood apartment. Eventually, Erika got back in my life and we began to float. The box turned into a hot air balloon. We floated past the mosk, then into a magical Mario Land-like circus. We never kissed. It wasn’t about that. It was always about love. We then hopped off the hot air balloon and onto a giant springboard floor. We put on our headphones and just jumped. Up and down. Up and down.

This is my way of saying I’m sorry, Erika, and I miss you. 

Chapter 4: A Dream Existing as a Person named Stephen 

Not all dreams are events. Not all dreams are those to wake up to. Some say this world is the dream of the deeper layer, and we are its escape. So Stephen is like a dream, because he’s experienced delusions and hallucinations, but he is safe, as a dream is safe from really destroying other worlds, allowing me to escape from my own rigid notions of what may be real, who i might be alone, and what I truly am in relation to others.

Dreams can synthesize the souls they inhabit, but they never fully engulf a reality, a lot like a person, a friend in psychosis can be absolute in their beliefs, yet still humble to the laws that govern their “pseudo-wakeful” hours. Stephen once pulled me out of my psychosis, my madness; I once bore witness to Stephen growing through his own. That’s what friends do for one another, right?-- like climbers of destiny, on a voyage, reaching abstractions, far out corners of the mind that no one has witnessed until the conscious light is shown, summiting the creator’s peak to find a fragment of what might truly be out there…but, boy can that be a difficult task without a ropesman. Stephen is a ropesman, having prevented many deaths, keeping people hopeful and kind to themselves when they were in crisis. What drives Stephen to the brinks of insanity, while still being tethered is what he has come to convince me as true love. Stephen is someone who loves intimately and deeply, disregarding the shell, in search of deeper context, deeper truths beneath the lines of bravery. I love Stephen. He reads for fun, which I once asked about in relation to his writing. I asked him, which he does more of. At first he said he writes more, but then realized that he reads what he writes, so changed his answer. I thought this was funny, true, and funny. A solid friend considering the amount of reading he does with people, even in the most cryptic frames of mind. He will make an excellent therapist because he is a patient reader. 

Oh, and this book is about dreams. Psychosis can feel like a dream. It’s truly a strange world, coupled with sensory resiliencies, shattered expectations, profound pulls of emotion, and both absolute faith and betrayal. To treat a dream like a psychosis and a psychosis like a dream, I think might be helpful to the people experiencing their life. To be welcomed into their symbolic dreamworld is to play by their rules, like you would inside any dream. To be humble to the foundation of lucidity means not forcing things, less your in for a rude awakening. 

Be kind, be patient like Stephen. 

Chapter 5: The Alien Device 

Sometimes you wake up from a dream right on time, right at the peak of a climax, almost wondering if there is a clock behind scenes in between the seconds, that is somehow related to time as we observe in our waking hours. 

In our waking hours, the less you observe time, the faster the world seems to revolve, while watching time seems to add to anxiety or impatience, it almost stops when you want it to go, and it leaves when you want it to stay.

So what does time in dreams have to do with time on earth, especially when you wake up right as a ball drops, or in the case of my dream, right after my alien device was seized by the alien queen. 

Did I transport from that alien ship, or was I sent here to learn a lesson, depending on this earth being a heaven or hell.

The alien device had importance, a relic, maybe a phone—surely a McGuffin to the film of life…

I was infiltrating an alien ship when I was caught by the dark purple and black alien queen. She took my device I think, or again, maybe I used my device at the last minute to escape and wake up from that realm.

What was I thieving, like a cat burglar or a ghost 👻 in silence, what was I after inside the alien queen’s ship.

I remember outside before entering, there was a hammock, a huge hammock perched between two strange and sturdy trees, yards apart. I was running around these trees, unable to relax, not just laying down, but on the go like a dog chasing its tail. My cousin, Derick, was there. Where exactly?—I don’t know—like most dreams the details can get fuzzy, I just know he was in close quarters, and I could feel his presence. 

Symbols, especially dream symbols can be hard to interpret, but I feel it’s all by intuition, if we are to understand archaic alien codes, languages lost in translation.

Maybe I was breaking the code to my inheritance. Maybe I was seeking answers inside of a royal cruiser ship that I was forbidden to decipher. The alien queen sure seemed foreign to me; she held herself in royal regard, and there was an aura of justice around her, but then why was I doing wrong for entering her ship with my device. 

That’s when I woke up. I think I was captured, but sent here to learn a lesson. Maybe I’m still on trial or being rehabilitated to understand my many lives in many different realms. 

I’ve dreamt of finding the many selves in other nights spent dreaming. One self, a scholar, at a beautiful university. One self a monster, able to go berserk on command, where I befriended another bear-like entity who invited me into his house. There was also the self in a bar, who drank liquor in a desert 🏜️. 

Perhaps this device is a diary of all the dream selves I have ever encountered. 

What would I do with all of these worlds apart from where I sit inside of this cafe here? What is the holy grail of metaphysical esotericism riddled in mystery? 

Where would I wake up from this dream, and what will be the final tick of this form’s clock. 

Anyways…knock on wood. Time is not linear and there are many parallel selves still searching. I hope to find a thread in the beauty of all that we are together collectively dreaming. 

Chapter 6: Jail and Hospital Retreat 

The two dreams I used to escape reality were in the courthouse jail and the hospital.

You’ll never fully be trapped, 

Your mind will always find a way out and into the splendor it deserves.

Humans walk around with limits to what they can experience, dreams don’t play by the captor’s rules, gravity is relinquished and chains are dissolved to what is truly possible. I wanted to write a book with endless possibilities, writing is a lot like day dreaming. Thoughts are marked down as permanent memories, but can be rearranged for later dates, re-imagined and interpreted, while the way forward is open for anything and everything. I could write a chapter about a stream of consciousness, then I could write a chapter about a “real event,” autobiographically, but the beauty of a dream log, is that there is no genre if you don’t want it to be boxed, or it could be completely linear in structural, local pursuits of algebraic equations relating middles to beginnings and ends. 

For this reason, writing about the freedom to dream is like dreaming your way out of being jailed or hospitalized.

I was indeed jailed and hospitalized for committing burglary; I was given the way out of my cell, through dream. 

I remember the dream still while in the most boring concretely confined space I have experienced in solitary confinement. The dream was about a yellow cat, a bus with a reindeer on top of it, and a staircase. 

I was lying outside on the grass overlooking the city. To my left was a lush glowing green forest. To my right was a purple glowing city 🌃 with a black hole in the top right. Like a painting, a neon painting. 

I felt a longing, I think. For what, though? I mean I had someone standing next to me as I laid, she was my girlfriend. She understood me, though I was still yearning, like an Islander gazing out to sea. 

It’s a deep sense of longing that I have always had. I can be manic and I can be in the moment, sensationally experiencing the shortsightedness of rhythm, but I can also long, far out into the unknown. Like the winter longs for summer. 

Some of my best memories have competed with dreams, which is why I don’t want to wake up. I’ve often thought that dreams were an escape from it all, taking the mundanities of this earth for granted. 

It’s the people, the oceans 🌊, the rivers and trees, that make earth glow, purple and green. 

She asked me to cheer up and appreciate her for she was by my side, 

I just wanted her to know i was indeed smiling a long smile, but that it would take a while, maybe by surprise 😮.

Chapter 7: Crème 

To dream,

her trail, an aroma,

Overtaking,

any will, choices are not thine own to make,

a heart, I did not ask to beat,

No,

Her storm of darkness is not without pain,

the wetted tears, plummeting upon my haste,

I’ve asked,

Is this stream a choice?

Have you taken me away from happiness to long for, but whispers, only audible when I have given up thine own voice?

Fate!

Why do I wait, apart from your absolute,

Why do I long for truth, if it is true what they say of the journey being the start, the end, the spiral toward your kiss, a friend,

I am Creme,

I am sinking down the stem of this shadow, promises I have made, though if I let go to float along your current,

I am comforted,

It is when I resist existence,

To be,

when I am not,

It is when free of mind,

Thine own emptiness contained,

I fall faster in pace,

Is it thine own way that is working against you,

Is it an energy to get close, that pushes you further?

To murder my own dream,

To redeem myself from myself,

Is to excel beyond the stopping of knowing you.

Tuesday,

Her name imprinted on my belly,

from whence I came,

Her ghost,

Grazes me,

Where art thou Tuesday?

Tuesday- I am neither here nor there. 

Tuesday, oh Tuesday- when art thou?

Tuesday- I am at the tip of the universe’s tongue

Tuesday, Oh Tuesday, Why art thou Tuesday

Tuesday- I am a warmth to the metaphor of loneliness 

Tuesday, Oh beautiful Tuesday, Who art thou and How?

Tuesday- I am not you, and this is because I am in motion.

Tuesday, What is thigh bidding, what is the pain?

Tuesday— In tune. Passing through time, we are both masters and slaves. Fear not, for we are both brave.

Scene Change-

I woke up with my friend next to me. I had a bounce to my charm, a pulse to my vulnerability. I wondered if this dream was just an act, so I asked my friend, a trumpet, to my wakened self. 

Creme- Tuesday spoke to me again. 

Buddy— She visits you frequently, my beloved brother. You were laughing in your sleep again.

Creme- We have been keeping watch over this town for 40 days. How is it that we have already eaten half our rations? We still have 80 days before the coming of this lord they talk about.

Buddy—To tell you the truth, I think it’s all a lie. I don’t think things are going to change. We may as well just eat the rest, leave our post, and flee.

Creme—But, what of the queen?

Buddy—The queen is greedy. Spilled blood, we have not, nor do we want. We are not soldiers. We are watchers of peace. To stay here for the war, would mean leaving our code. To do no harm.

Creme— War is not certain. The queen says to be cautious, yet she does not draw swords toward this lord, only curiosity.

Buddy—seeds of doubt have already taken root. If we are to trust in her past, she has killed all other lords before her. She is the Arachnid Queen, choosy, and will kill even a lord, if she is not satisfied by his dance.

Creme— I have faith this time. He is taking his time, surely he will be welcomed. 

“I dozed back to sleep, not knowing what was so funny.”

Buddy- you get some rest. 

Creme- What was so funny?

Chapter 8: A Rare Feast

When we dream we can be comforted from what we long for. In the absence of our desire, apart, we attain what our mind cannot go without, or what it curiously craves, perhaps. Not saying that you always want what you get in dreams. On the contrary, some dreams are so repulsive that we wish to never return, but it’s how we process them, for their lessons in experience, that we can find comfort even in the terror. 

I don’t often dream of food. I don’t often dream of sex, but they are two of the most addictive things on this planet, absorbing so much of our attention in the media, but also in the grounded nature of earth too. This earth is built around nourishment and procreation, in some ways, not all, but in some. We cannot survive unless synthesizing with the world around us, digesting what is not us, utilizing the otherness and fusing it with our own. The same is somewhat true of sex, as it is the nature of combining two souls, bridges of flesh. 

So, then, when I do dream of food, I wonder after waking up…Whether or not I can digest a lesson that was as addictive in my waking hours as heroin might feel to someone in pain. Do I decide I am nourished by the pseudo meal, or do I tempt myself back to sleep in search of wild times under the pool with a beautiful prostitute? —

All the sex dreams I’ve ever had were consensual, actually. I say actually, because I’ve had moments in life riddled with miscommunication, from both sides. Communication is not only proper to finding love through skin, it is holy. So when my dreams of sex say to me that under the currents of imagination, when they tell me I am not a monster, I am relieved. I have been accused or questioned as being a monster on this earth. 

During my dreamlike nightmare in my early twenties, I got naked and made love to a marijuana plant.

Some years in my thirties, I…Well I’m still a bit sensitive to it all, so it’s difficult for me to even write down, but I was in a traumatic experience involving the communication of what was going on during an intimate encounter.

I’ve learned to not use my sexuality blindly. I think the reason I am so addicted to pornography is because I’m safe from making a bad move, but still, it does not teach me how to get closer to people.

I’ve heard that some strippers use their job as a way to cope with their own trauma around sexuality. The stage is a place to express, while being organized. A way to feel the chaos contained.

So what is a dream of beauty and sex?---I’ve wondered if it would ever be possible to share in that connection, to find the lovers of my dreams. The agreed nature of nourishing my flesh with their flesh. Of eating the pomegranate, and feeling it digest, not just a mirage of love, but the real thing. 

Sometimes dreams tempt the dreamer into missing the dream, in wanting it to be real. For what it’s worth. All dreams are as real as this one. They all point in a holy direction, one that we are still learning from. So while I’ve made mistakes in the waking hours of my life—I know that dreams can teach me that it is possible to connect with others like water bonding towards its collection. 

The golden ratio is perhaps the face, fluid as a smiling cloud, yearning, laughing. The next chapter is about bears. 

Chapter 9: Bears 🐻 

Hey there,

This dream is about bears. 

I’ve never been attacked by bears. Bears were always somewhat in the distance—I’ve only really seen a “real bear” in my waking hours, in zoos and sanctuaries. 

I don’t think I enjoy zoos. Putting healthy monkeys on display away from their natural habitat—no good.

Perhaps rehabilitating injured monkeys …there might be some good intent here. Intent doesn’t always produce healthy outcomes. 

We intended to utilize science for longevity, but it ended in a bigger death toll in points of history, in the nuclear wastelands of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the Hanford areas, science spilled across the lush beauty, eroding it into death slime. 

So what is right and what is wrong in the animal kingdom of justice. Maybe it’s balance. Sometimes the crocodile gets the cheetah 🐆, sometimes the cheetah gets the gazelle, sometimes the gazelle gets to go home to its youngsters.

But should humans govern this balance? We too are prayed upon by viruses, plagues, other humans. 

Life—the ends of life. 

Zoos, though, used to be barbaric. Nazi-esque —-anytime one ego manipulates the environment of another ego to the point of pain—perhaps humans are the worst. Animals —-though some may play with their meals, like dolphins 🐬 who play with their food before eating it, or monkeys who might intend to inflict pain—most animals are only killing animals to continue life…without the intent to inflict moral pain on the other life form. 

Does intelligence corrupt morality? Power of thought to choose to do harm, rather than going with the flow of life.

Jellyfish 🪼 are beautiful. They float along the currents by instinct, brainless, huge brainless creatures who rely on complete instinctual flow. 

I love Metroid, the video game. The metroids resemble the beautiful power of natural flow; Metroids look like jellyfish. In the game, these Metroids are sought after by space pirates for Mother Brain to rule the galaxy. Intelligence here, representing the villain against flow. 

So I chose to be named Buka Bear. Partly because my big brother acquired the name Buka from his youth football coach, and I’ve always looked up to my older brother. My older brother is like a bear. More powerful than me. He could, if he really wanted to, destroy me. Yet he doesn’t. When I say destroy, I mean he could win in a physical fight, as well as mental. He’s been alive for longer than I have. He knows the ropes better; we’re on the same team thankfully. 

I am a bear, like my brother, because I find it necessary to be protective and comforting to children, like a teddy bear, to a child’s slumber. 

I had a teddy bear growing up. I still do, but I think he’s in storage. His name is Radar. I’m too old to sleep with teddy bears 🧸 these days, but when I was a kid, radar kept me safe from the clowns like IT. Just as my brother kept me safe. He is to this day, still in the role of protector and I can go to him for anything serious.

If it’s silly, he’ll tell me to go to hell, but that’s ok. I get to be the Buka Bear and dream the dream I’ve always endured. One of excitement and courage, voyaging in and out of hospital zoos to be released into the true environment of my mind. Into the dance floor!

Chapter 10: Pink Bunny 🐰 

Who is dreaming whom?

🛌 

A silly little leprechaun 🍀 

A scary little gollum thing in the bottom of a cave 

The most beautiful cruiser ship 🚢 

The most magical stream 

Warm and majestic blue 

Swimming by the rope swing 

Do you ever just want to lose control and explode??

Your mind ever just feel pent up, like you won’t let yourself in on your biggest secret

🤫 that’s how it feels today to be halfway in between worlds and stuck here

Not saying it’s torture to be here, but as I said before—-dreams 

The way in —

I don’t get nightmares anymore knock on wood.

They say Pisces are mature,

They say they’re the holders of wise dream fabric.

No, I don’t have pride, I’m not the best —-I just dream man. 

Like not even my own orgasm 

No —not even my own song,

Yes love, but not even lov, understands how hard I’ve dreamt of other worlds, man. Other mother fuckin worlds way better than here. Better —-as in so much more alive than life, but I don’t take this for granted. 

So why the hell can’t I sing??

It’s as if I don’t have that full throttle in me, like my engine just won’t fuckin start.

You ever try to run in your dream and you’re moving at a snail’s 🐌fuckin pace?

Sorry to cuss, but man. That’s one of the most annoying feelings in dream land there ever was. 

That and losing my teeth, a repetitive dream I have. Is this anxiety?? This must be existential anxiety or how the spiritual poets know it as ennui. 

That’s how I often fuckin feel. Like a snake without a bite. Like a cobra without its charm. 

I feel so fuckin lost in my potential (and pardon the tone if it comes off as agitated or angry; actually, I’m more malleable and soft than angry, like being slowly dripped and stirred, like being tempered to the crucible’s wishes.

So why am I so slow to return? Do I give myself headaches fixating on things like speed? Is the universe truly slow at times?—not just slow, but lacking. 

Impatience is a thread of my lesson. 

So when my first dream I’ve ever dreamt happens to be about running from life itself, maybe I’m happy life was a giant sized pink bunny, 🐰. Like the energizer bunny—did I see it on T.V. and subconsciously or subliminally read life as a big pink bunny chasing me through absolute nothingness?

I was the fastest kid growing up until I hit puberty. I was also the most challenging to take down, be it by the forces of nature, be it by any challenge…be it balancing across logs over great heights or wrestling with the other kids. 

-But was that violence to be at the top for so long? I was never a bully…well, actually—except to one friend, his name is Matt, I became a bully to my best friend Matt. 

I trained him. He looked up to me. Eventually we had a big war, where he outsmarted me and convinced everyone to turn on me, the king. 

He is now a millionaire; Matt eventually forgave me and welcomed me back into the tribe. It was never my tribe. I was always a king amongst kings. We were always the best kids on the team.

I will always love Matt. 

I will always love Khaoya. 

Now to get back to my run 🏃🏻. 

For we are the kings on the throne of eternity——

Ether!! 

Chapter 11: Wanting to Step Back

I don’t want to pretend that I don’t care if you think this book is a piece of garbage, I don’t want to lose your interest.

So I wanted to step back into the exposition of this book. Not sure if it’s what you’ve been expecting, as a book of dreams ought to certainly be more colorful, surreal and whimsical, while this book so far might be a far cry from Alice In Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, or Jabberwocky. I’m no James Joyce, I’m no Oscar Wilde. I’m no Mr. Miyamoto, but  what I do know is that the creator of Mario shares the same name as the legendary Samurai, who was known to be undefeated, wielding two blades to keep balance. 

People ought to invest in things like books of poetic dreams, only if there is something to gain. So I want to intentionally sprinkle in what I am most knowledgeable about, far beyond the average reader, gifting you with lore that you may be unaware of. 

This lore, like Excalibur is to the Master Sword, might interact with your own dream book. I only want to relate. I don’t want to sound solipsistic like I’m jerking myself. I only want to connect. 

So I promise you, I know more than most people do about Super Nintendo!

I am a profound scholar when it comes to its symbols and connection, and I am also a therapist, a doctor of occupational therapy, so I hope to offer some credibility in my allure to keep you entertained.

So enough of me.

Why is Link a dreamer?

In Link’s Awakening, he wakes up. Ocarina of Time, he wakes up. A Link to the Past?—He wakes up . Wind Waker—wakes up. Just about every Zelda game involves link waking up. 

You could say he never wakes up or he’s already dead in Majora’s Mask. 

Why, though?

What is the connection between the Triforce, and the Hero of Time beginning with sleep, from sleep. 

It sounds painfully obvious. Hero’s dream. We are born dreamers. Nothing is real and everything is real. Dreams are not real and entirely real. 

I love you, but love is nothing and everything. 

The reader is either anonymous and existing while I am alive, or resurrecting my thoughts in their own dream world. We are existing as time apart or as complete. I don’t know why we are sad and I don’t know why we are elated. 

You quiz me? You tell me? 

I’m just a video game boy, mobile, but somehow we turned it all into a cheap way to make money.

Coins were never supposed to be the main plot line. They were always a trail, just a

Hint, toward what was more important—-the goal—-

So what does Mario represent? Is it a princess? In games like Braid, they turn this idea on its head and you come to find out that the goal has been running from you wanting to escape you this whole time. You thought you were the good guy, but come to realize you were a stalker who could not let go of his past. 

I’m not a stalker, I tell myself. I’m not a thief. I’m no hero either. Just a man and his book. And it makes me cry because that’s all we really are—-both what we aren’t and the other side of it. The flip side of a coin is its opposite. Made of the same. 

So wars are not won necessarily by the stopping of the flip, but again by the blue and green of its revolving nature. Yes’s —no’s. Maybes. 

Maybe, is an answer. Maybe, the flow. 

Chapter 12: Dreams we don’t talk about

Why would I not even talk about some of the dreams I’ve had if they’re just dreams?

I won’t because I have the power to filter myself, to hold back. Sometimes artists can use restraint, especially if it protects those they love. 

Imagination 💭—might still cut unsheathed, I’ve learned. 

Dreams let you process things only you might be capable of healing from. I love you. I love you so much. I’m deeply in love with whoever is reading this, be it my sister, my nephew, my mother, my niece, my brother, my father. Deep format love can still be pure. It can still be non-possessive or tainting. Agape, Jesus called it. Yeshu. Ala. god. They spoke of this purity like gold. True love. Like a ring. 💍 gold is an important element. It is heavy, but soft, like my love for you. It conducts spirituality, electricity ⚡ ️—like water. If water is the trinity (3 molecules), gold is the Lord. They both resonate love—

So what then is a noble gas? A noble gas is a completely filled element that does not need anything from anyone, as its valence electron shells are fully filled. They are content with no charge. 

Anxiety and depression seem to come from not being satisfied. As if we are not content—wound up or not utilized. A Ferrari that has no fuel. A love with no exit to express. Bottled up pains, like a dream that cannot escape. 

Chapter 13: MLK has a Dream

That all men and women are created in the equality of love, the image of our souls made untethered from capture,

To control another man’s dream, is to deny your own, 

We’ve come a long way—and yet we still are not fully immersed in inclusion—we walk down the streets and give no time to the man running low of hope, failing to see that even the birds 🦢were once our ancestors —and perhaps further along in their spiritual quest of understanding this gift for life, 

So we deny that which does not resemble us in the moment, because we  are vain, near sighted; looking too far and below our perspective becomes a chore —because we base logic in that which is recognizable—-yet to not see your own reflection in a black man, is to not witness the mirror of life. 

MLK had a dream and we are in his still, 

The murders of our hearts, out of self hatred and confusion, 

So perhaps getting to know your brother is also getting to know the rock. And seeing how even “inanimate talismans” are bestowed, imbued beauty by sheer projection of imagination. 

A true artist attracts beauty and love, because he sees her in the shadow of itself—-the playful delight of freedom, the natural flow of creation, liberated, untamed and not jailed of fear.

MLK has a dream,

That the tears of our fathers would never quit to flood the gardens , like comets across the cosmos, a shower of spring, a birth, a storm of kindness, would never quit —we cannot quit giving up the fight for love, to free ourselves and rid shame of our names , together as one.

—separation causes anxiety and we often separate into the void of our slumber to escape the waking torture of other guards to the palace of our divinity, we dream of liberation —we must expose and birth this dream into this reality—this collection of thoughts, for it is a human duty to embrace the fourth dimension and filter our hatred —through life experience to then share what we have learned into the giving space of this plane, this existence; this is the giving space, this realm, where we communicate joy and love and the strife to do good, to nurture those in need.

MLK is a dream. He lives on a neural pulse to all that we might recall of the struggles toward forgiveness, like a god unraveling its mistakes in and of itself..MLK is a dream I will nourish through my veins because he is energy of light, and this light will never go out. I love you MLK and I will guard this dream with all that I own, the heart of a moon, the heart of the lion 🦁 sleeping a good night sleep. 

Rest in peace my dear uncle, you have so much to our earth, to our concept of righteousness and to eternity..

Love you 🩵,

Neko 

Chapter 14: Engii

Finding the Sword in the Dream

Hudson: …

Heather: What is this place?

Buster: Woah-

Tammy: Woooaw!

 Rex: Holy fuck!

Saturn: Oh, cool.

Hudson-----Am I dead?

I think I’ve been here before,

But when?

And why----

There must be something still at stake---There must be something worth remembering, but what is it?

The blade. Yes, there was a forbidden blade of darkness and light, of balancing fear and love,

There is a way,

Yes,

There is a way forward-----It’s someplace-----or fuzzy, it’s all -------wait, noooo, yes---it’s already here, the blade---

The buried blade is death itself---

Sharper and more penetrating, piercing, straight through life itself-------

This is more than a cut----

This is love

This is innocence----The one capable of entering into death of birth is innocence

What we do not remember is the gift of innocence –

Whether the tears drop-

or the smiles stop--------

One overcomes fear in remembering----------

Reverberating remedies to regrets in cycles,

I have sailed far from---------

Far from my home lies the passion I have for her----------every moment forgotten 

Until I have no more breaths in my vision----------------

Am I losing a hand at fate,

Every time I deny another tear dropped?

Dear Life,

Life-examined--------------Why must I invest MY faith in the story of thine own creative flow?

Well,

Father------I Just came to say

“Hello”

• ************

Rex- Damn

Heather: NO fluffin way>

Buster: Wooooah

Saturn---------------------

Tammy: yeah

Hudson:

I’m awake!

Chapter 15: Is everything always just a way to calm down? 

Is everything just a way to calm down?

I get so impatient trying to describe the images. These are just words—-

There was a walrus at the bottom of a sandy arcade ocean and the tide was coming in. Then on the hill there was a castle and a town, and I miss the town. There were swinging platforms.

I’m so sorry to myself for forgetting, for dreaming of something so beautiful and not knowing how to describe it. There was a wooden house with bottles. And I saw my friend Michael, who was either smoking weed or eating mushrooms 🍄…reading from a book, the way he always reads. 

I want a hug. I just want a hug. I don’t want to flirt with it, I just want to collapse inside someone that I love and be held. Like a toddler, not an infant. I don’t want someone to fear crushing me as if I’m too fragile to hold. I want to be held like a 4 year old.

When I was 4 my first memory was formed, but now it’s just a story I tell myself , I don’t actually have the proper image, the way I should want to have it held inside my brain. 🧠 

The image of the story, rather the story of the image is a tower at PCC, back when they had those little towers. I don’t even know what I’m talking about. It’s all so fuzzy; the story is, one of those watchtowers, like you see at the beach, looking almost like a lighthouse, my first memory.

I was climbing a watchtower. When I was 4 and used to play at PCC next to the outdoor gardens, with a huge play structure made of soft blocks and triangular structures. My favorite shirt is a blue shirt with green shapes: circles, triangles, and squares. 

I once pooped my pants in 1st grade and blamed it on someone else, saying, “oh man, he farted!”

All the kids laughed, meanwhile I had shitty pants. I also once shit in the Oregon ocean, or maybe behind a log. I used a pooper scooper to shovel it off into a stream leading to the ocean. It was a purple shovel, so actually yeah, that’s what happened. 

I’m sad.

I’ll just admit it, life with all of its beauty hits a sad point where you realize you’ve gone so far and will never return. 

Maybe that’s the true beauty of sadness. The depth. Honest to god, I feel like I’m so far from being able to share my true boyhood with anyone. I wish I could share it with you, Tuesday. 

I don’t even have many memories of Tuesday. But I love her. She’s gentle on my soul, and she said she trusts me. It’s hard to know if someone really understands me the way I understand myself, and it’s equally hard to understand others the way they understand themselves. Maybe I am missing the pain she feels or the sadness, maybe I am missing the depth she’s understood 28 years of life to mean. 😭 

I’m just a month into this young poet’s life. 

A month in the ocean of her beautiful dream. She is so beautiful and passionate, charismatic, because she’s sincere. I truly cried a lot listening to her music, and she plays piano like a painter. I know her favorite color is chartreuse. But you know why I’m so sad. Because I missed all those years without her. All those years she can only describe, only begin to paint and only truly know in and of herself. 

God knows what we go through and we share in the fabric of art and god. But we truly are able to share so little. Like trying to describe a dream. Trying to describe a hug that makes you feel like a toddler. 

I lov you Tuesday. 

Chapter 16: When I was a boy I was too lazy to imagine heaven, depriving myself of both the momentary earth and, “what’s in the box!”

What’s the idea that we need to die in order to justify a ticket to heaven?

We can actually be there, visually we have the imagination and technology to do it. We can immortalize the human soul in a machine waveform, like a record that keeps spinning. 😵‍💫 

I am free to decide or be convinced of what heaven is. I wasn’t taught to accept here and now as somewhere I need to be, as the true heaven on earth, it was always a place out in the far future. Perhaps, only once I let go of the “I” in my own reality revolving around “me,” can I pick up where I last left off with my mother and father, a return to where they are now. Maybe they wanted a break from me–we teach our bodies that we want to keep them around for as long as possible, constantly resisting death. Maybe I wore them out, maybe they just need some time to recharge. 

This whole place is as odd as a jewel 💎, the way patterns repeat after a while. Maybe we should actually write down what heaven might look like, feel like. Get up and move around, but relax and go to bed. 

Heaven is fully rested. Fully fed, but able to still taste the beauty as if being starved. Heaven is a massage in a hot tub by some soft hands, while it’s snowing outside, overlooking a Jupiter filled sky, drinking sparkling apple cider. 

Tonight I’m going to the moon. I’ll buy a pair of boxers because I cannot control myself on the dance floor—-I’ve decided to not dance nude anymore.

Would the removal of limits help keep me from getting tired and not wanting to wake up in the morning? I always use an alarm clock and it sure does bother me. I think we set each other up to be on some sort of time agreement, but it’s definitely not natural to have machines, whole systems forcing you to do things you don’t want to do. These machines wake me up each morning and I feel like a rotting zombie who just wants to hit the snooze button over and over again. But maybe it’s all for the best to be on god’s time…

Who really knows. When I do get to sleep in it feels so much better. So much more like heaven. 

Today I woke up with no alarm clock.

Chapter 17: Do planets dream?

The moon and earth are in a dance, lit warm by the stage of the sun. Saturn plays its tune; Saturn’s tune is of hexagonal nature, that is to say it is the subliminal frequency of the beast, the tune perhaps of sat(an) who tempts the moon and the earth to procreate, the biting of the apple. Saturn has its rings which it uses to beam frequencies to get people to dance, and it has a storm in the form of a cube, on its pole, which can be seen as a 6-sided cloud formation; see for yourself the satellite pictures of this odd 6 sided symbol of Saturn’s pole. 

Jupiter is the host, the chaperone and the ancestral overseer of the ball. Jupiter is the grandparent of the bride, Zeus if you will—the bride being the moon.

Mars is the groom’s shadow. Who it once was, alive and well, now just a past, as a tombstone to the life it once lived. The best man, who has taken a sacrifice to gain wisdom through desolation. 

Venus is the wedding ring. It is the symbol of love. It is the essence of all love. It spins so slowly, taking 243 days just to complete one spin around its axis. This is because love is slow, and passionate. It is deep. 

Mercury is the ring bearer, innocent; it is only innocence as the messenger that allows for it to be so close to the light of the son. 

Uranus is the wedding cake, decorated in the soft pastel blue of the sky. 

Neptune is the sea shore along the paradise of where love is made, far from the royal dance, distant and private. 

Pluto, the beloved promise, the mystery of taking it to the other side, as it almost reaches the outer limits of our voyage together.

I love you.

I am in tune to your creative dream, as this milky way galaxy spins, a record of the cosmos. 

Will you be mine, will you take my hand in time?

Chapter 18: 4 Miniatures (x-rated, skip chapter if you don’t like cuss words) 

Sliver 

Fuck 

Fucking 

Ooo

Press 

Pulp 

Bitten lip 

She felt like a narcissist, but she let me become her—at least in a kiss 

After 

Logic was banned 

I finally fucking reveled in a tree

God fucking damnit, finally after all the pent up fuckery 

In a sense 

Innocence doesn’t quite marry the real message of forgiveness for fuck sakes, 

It’s all just a quick fuck, 

Like quick sand 

I hardly fucking understand 

Let go of my hand Susan—-I can’t handle the door slammed 

I wasn’t trying to upset you with my magical tongue—-I just didn’t know who I could trust to be myself—-listing lust dreams was easy, but could it be all cleaned up after all was said and done?

Chapter 19: A bubble of thought vs a bubble of dream 

Dreams 

Thoughts 💭 

One so real 

One so thin 

One so thick 

One so stuck 

One so lucky to come across, much more rare,

While thoughts are practically always there, 

I thought about my dream. Forward thinking is a dream, but as it happened like it really did, I wished I was truly surrendered, something of a lost boy to serendipity. Grown gown hospital crown, I dressed my frown ☹️ with lip paint, so as to laugh a fair clown stare, in the mirror of not being there for my daughter when I needed her the most. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be. I waited too long in the mirror, not seeing her as my true reflection. Dreams won’t take me back, but maybe reality is the best shot I have.

I’m sorry,

I’m so sorry I took so long and was so absent and mean.

I’m sorry all I had in mind was unlike a dream, just a vanishing veil of half-assed thoughts—getting lost in smoke 💨—pottery broken toke, shattered unlucky glass when I made my smile cry. I’m so sorry, blind as a thousand apologetic bats that never made it back to her.

Whispers 

Too-late invites to lunches far past noon 🕛 

I’m sorry, just know I had always loved you 

Chapter 20: DREAM 

Deep 

Real

Energetic

Audible

Memory 

Random access might allow for faster retrieval 

Systematic beginning to end is more thorough, but takes longer. 

How do you want to see us? Can we be both at once, particular wave 🌊 

Pockets of energy 

Observable ghost 👻 

A parallel organ 

Two hearts in sync 

As the crescendo of the diaphragm tightens then exhales, 

Ohm 

…the pulse of idioms 

Idiosyncrasies kept alive 

Chapter 21: For All (Trigger Warning for Violence)

The Super Nintendo has the perfect timeless feel. The music, the graphics, the stories— 16-Bit. When you get to the N64, the polygonal nature can seem a bit jarring, there are lots of angles, whereas the SNES pixel sprites are smooth. The original NES is like the N64, in that it is rough and bulky. The GameCube is like the SNES in that it is softer, more pastel. 

My two favorite consoles are the SNES and the GameCube.

I like the SNES and GameCube for many reasons, other than being my childhood toy and the uncle version of that Toy (Diddy & DK). The SNES and GameCube had games that were creative, on a soft and heavy level.

I feel like games these days are getting more creative, but I feel like they might be missing the 16-bit of storytelling, either too rough and hard around the edges, or too lightweight. The soft, but heavy way to tell a courageous story, almost requires the perfect limits or boundaries for what is possible. I’m not a big fan of 1st person shooters or hyper realistic war games, even the Grand Theft Auto games don’t really do it for me. I’m not against the camera angle of first person; I love Metroid Prime. I also don’t mind gun games so long as the focus isn’t on killing a real person. I don’t understand why I used to play Call of Duty. I do enjoy the first 4 Metal Gears, Resident Evil 4, Dead Space, and the Last of Us, but while these games have guns, they aren’t really about violence masked in upholding peace. They aren’t about War pretending to be OK. 

Super Nintendo didn’t have this realistic war cry. It was about imagination, hitting on themes like darkness, time, love, friendship, trust, fun, loyalty, problem solving, chaos, vibrance. Sure you still had games like Duke Nukem, and Jurassic Park, but you weren’t trying to kill a fellow human. Why did games get so real?

What happened to the soft and heavy nature of storytelling. Games like Hollow Knight still keep the flame alive. 

What about fighting games? Am I just turned off by fighting in general? Like, do I enjoy Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat? Honestly, I’d pick Mega Man and Demons Crest over those games any day. I’d also pick Lemmings and Lost Vikings or those games. I do, however, love me some Smash Bros, so maybe it does have something to do with violence. 

I stopped watching violent movies, or torturous horror movies with lots of realistic gore; I don’t even want to think about some of those films, so I won’t even name them. But yeah, I think my brain just doesn’t like that kind of imagery.

I don’t get off on that, so what about BDSM? What about when sex is portrayed as violent, does this turn me one direction or another?-- It makes me feel like we have some ways to go. Humans are expressing what they’ve been given. Some seek to act out violence as a way to heal from true violence that has been placed on them. BDSM takes trust. When you play a video game, no one gets hurt in the end, just like the play of consensual “acting” during sex, or during movies; however, to say that these “acts” don’t have an emotional impact on the fragile innocent and open mind, would be to deny my nightmares after watching some fucked up horror films that I could not just forget. To deny that the emotional and psychological impact does not affect the physical self... it is all connected—when you’re afraid, your palms get sweaty, your heart races, etc.

I remember being so scared, I didn’t want to sleep because I had images in my head, and I was afraid of the nightmares. So yes, while some people have now taken up bravery to walk those dark paths and not get hurt, I feel like we are either forcing ourselves to courageously grow up or inflicting pain on imagination where it shouldn’t be led. That is to say, you can still learn about adult lessons of fear, of hurt, of loss, sadness, but it doesn’t have to be so damn realistic. I say, the darker the topic, the more cartoony or soft it should be. Soft, but heavy, like the GameCube and the Super Nintendo. I don’t like mixing pain with realism. This world sees enough of it. I saw enough of it growing up with an angry father.  

Let’s stay out of the darkness of nightmares. Let’s keep our limits kind. I love you. <3 

-Brother Buka

Chapter 22: Geno

I couldn’t have imagined nor dreamt my life in a million years.

This has been an adventure like nothing else. I am full of energy, full of life, it’s a gift to reflect. Sure, I still get sad, but man...

If you really stop to think. I was born in what I considered poverty; little did I know, I’d be inside of an avatar, inside of my space suit with other heroes. Max is a hero. He is a star beam like no one I have ever met. Full of inspiration and kindness. Full of light.

He enjoys music and the quest for the quest’s sake. He is like me, and I am like him, and I am sorry we butt heads from time to time, but I have his back through it all. I love you my brother, and I care that he finds his dream. He is a genius belonging to the same community as me. We both frequent a coffee shop, it’s a royal hut—Coffee Time.

I am indebted to the place for as long as I live. It’s where I met Max. It’s where all legends go to take care of their thirst for knowledge. This life may seem random at times, but God is a holy orchestrion. No deep bond is left to chance. We have been here before and we will continue.

What is magic amongst science? What is the science of magic? What is the heart without the mind, and the stomach, and what is a dancer?

We are all dancers. Whether we flow in and out of conversation amongst people, or whether we flow within ourselves, we are all dancers.

I am privileged to relax. I am privileged to dream. I’ve wondered what cats might dream. Might they dream of being human, as I’ve dreamt of being eagle?

Might I be a cat in the afterlife? Max, surely, he is a cat. He has a way with style and flow. He has a keen approach to life, almost reflexive in its delights. He is deep. He is not shallow, but he is grounded when he must be.

He has a rising sign of the Scorpio. They say rising signs are your bridge, or the mask you wear to get to the other side of who you are deep down. Deep down he is a Taurus moon, full of the force. A bull, like Ferdinand, who would rather smell flowers than be tempted into battle. This bull wears a Scorpio mask, his destination, his sun is also Scorpio. They say the sun sign represents your story arch, toward where you are venturing. He is constantly face to face with his destination. He must utilize instinct if he is to reveal his star born life force to the rest of the world.

I am going to the same land and learning the same cosmic lesson as Max, that of the Scorpio nature. Birth and death. Reborn as the dove into the cosmos. I am a Pisces moon, a dreamer fish, swimming alongside the Bull.

I can see him just above me along the river of time. My mask is Virgo. The Virgin of the divine feminine. I am a romancer, like Max.

Max has an electric nature in his Eastern Astrology. He is the Ram. A metal ram, fitting for his style, of charm and musicianship. The taste of perfection.

I have the Earth Dragon nature. Existing between worlds.

Chapter 23: Sapient Prophecy 

Is it true that predictions can have statistical accuracy?

What is the chance?

Why is it the nature of certain things to find homeostasis of equality? For instance, why is it a 50/50 chance for a two sided coin to land heads or tails in a toss-up? What do physical properties in motion have to do with our ability to predict? Why does gravity work 100% of the time to pull us to the ground? How can we work with predictability to take flight, using other forces to create lift? 

Why is it a certainty, not a prophecy, but a no brainer for the Sun to rise again and again?

What is the nature of a prophecy?—must it be meaningful and make an impact against the mundane, or the ordinary?

So when my friend dreamt that he’d be dating someone and lying close to her, snuggling in bed, was this a prophecy? He had seen her as a friend like the moon pulls the tides, over and over, as just a friend—to them a dream of change occurred—a transformation, a prophecy of change…They eventually became more than friends.

I don’t think you can force prophecies, you can’t force love. You don’t predict the weather, expecting it to change it. You predict the weather, abiding by its freedom.

The heart has a prophecy. We must simply observe it unfold.  

Patterns of observing the past, can lead to intuition to fortune tell, in a way. As in, when you observe someone consistently smile, and then one day walk in with a frown, you can predict that something sad may have happened, but there will be a future where they are smiling again; when you pick up on the smells of other people, their pheromones, it might remind you of people you’ve loved or the spring, and you can predict what a future between y'all might entail. We use the past to predict the future, even in our relationships. 

My mother never smoked weed, she said she tried it once at the U of O, which is where I was born, Eugene, OR.

—But my father smoked a lot of weed, and surely she inhaled second hand smoke. This may be why I love marijuana so much, because it reminds me of the time of my conception, when my parents were in love. 

My official mental health diagnoses are schizophrenia and marijuana dependency. 

If I am to make a fortune telling of my future—then I must utilize my past, a complex one, but one full of adventure and love. 

In thinking of my future, I wonder if I’ll ever have children of my own. What if the pattern of father and son stops with me? Does that change the odds of me finding life lucky? —well…I have a niece and a nephew, and there are second cousins of mine who’ve had happy lives without ever having had children. They are still able to teach the youth, still able to teach me. 

I think what this tells me about the prophecy of conception is that it's unknown at the moment, and at the moment this is ok. :) 

Chapter 24: Marijuana 

To dip fully into a drug—moderation.

Why?

What is the single palette of the question?

To fall deeper into a canyon of a question, one might lose themselves—

So how to pose a question? One small drop. The question influences the answer. A proper pour of the tea into the cup, a waterfall into a ravine. The question is the container, the answer is the essence.

Yin 

Yang 

So maybe Socrates was asking with the hole in his heart, what life really meant. 

He was taught love and beauty by Diotima. 

Maybe we fill the canyon of our hearts with one answer at a time, just hoping for a massive flood to overtake our world. 

Yet these floods happen once if at all in a lifetime… 

Some questions are never understood to be asked, some answers never prompted to be given.

This is love ❤️ 

Chapter 25: This book is cognitive behavioral therapy. It’s journaling.

Cognitive means thoughts-behaviors are actions. Are thoughts a step removed from actions or do they still produce a physical external outcome. And if matter is neither created nor destroyed, and an object in motion stays in motion unless acted on by an equal or greater force, then can we really will our thoughts out of the inertia or momentum that they were already heading towards; if the original thought was to grow and to be alive, then what is the outside force to deplete the path of growing or being alive, les we conclude that laws to reality are more like a butterfly 🦋; in a cocoon the caterpillar 🐛 fully liquifies into mush, then transforms into the butterfly. It doesn’t maintain its wormlike appearance to grow wings, actually it dissolves completely into liquid, somehow retaining its memories and nourishment, to then grow into the butterfly from that dissolved state. So what if life for humans maintains its growing inertia / momentum and uses experience as nourishment, to then be born from the cocoon of the earth. That is, what if there isn’t an outside force that hates life, but one that treats life as a transformation or a reincarnation! I love you, Tuesday, this all makes a lot of sense to me.

Fear is attachment to our current selves in this current dream.

The freedom of forever ♾️ means I can love.

Chapter 26: Pain

Why? Why was it painful knowing you? Do I escape? 

There is just a figment of comfort when I look at you. 

You’re not who I know 

You’re not the comfort of the milk I used to drink 

I wish you were 

I wish I was comforted 

A community 

It’s always the pattern 

It’s always the in and out of myself 

When I look 

I feel lost 

So maybe I’m better in tune with my father 

I’ve never really loved the separative force of the journey away from my mother

Though, when I look into your eyes 

I smile after realizing you’re not her

The separation and acceptance that you are my friend,

The loneliness is only a mirage 

Dancing like a fool 

There are the nodes of existence as if we’re supposed to allude to Maya 

Maya 

The truth of every little node 

As a fabric,

A blanket comforting the singular 

It was only cut by my father 

To make me feel like I had someone else..

So the cause of my pain 

Is seeing you as her

When you are not the past …

Future? Future self?

I love her —feeding from the child I am —-was she ever a child ?

🧒 

Chapter 27: Aging and addiction

I used to be addicted to candy. 

In my dreams…

There was a cliff side chiseled out.

There was a giant fall cushioned by pillows. This was in a mansion. 

I remember flying around at night and perching on a tree. I also remember signing up for my new school. 🏫 . I was late to a movie, and needed to use the restroom.

In another dream, there was a haunted house farm.

In yet another dream, I was in a new virtual reality game that resembled Mario Party. The coins weren’t the point.

Anyways, I used to be addicted to candy. I think addictions are simple ways of dealing with pain. Boredom is pain. 

Why would I be bored as a child, needing candy?

I feel like we are all learning lessons through pain. Pain is a teacher. We can get angry at pain momentarily, but eventually, we must embrace the wisdom it has to offer, to free ourselves from the source. The hand must let go of the burning furnace. Anger is a furnace that we must acknowledge. We can embrace the flame, while walking away from it. It will always be there, a memory to not get too close.

So, how to walk away from the mundane, the pain of boredom? Perhaps, we often sit inside of our minds and freeze, hoping that something will surprise us out of the pain, like a miracle, or a drug, but often I feel boredom is a call towards action. Maybe we do not take action because we cannot fathom ever escaping the place we are currently in, pain. All it takes is a few prompts to keep going, be it a figment of a dream, be it a friend who you remember saying “hello” to. Maybe you won’t know the conversation of your soul-mate until getting past the initial “hello” too. 

I am often bored in pain, while thinking that it will be impossible to meet my beloved end, my eternal flame of the bride. I walked away from needing sugar after I grew out of it. I think I will also be able to grow out of boredom, out of stagnation, and find a deeper calling of purpose, even while in the most mundane environments.

I always wondered how people in jail could enjoy their time, given their physical limitations. Well, humans and creatures adapt to where they are and make even the smallest steps toward enlightenment. These steps can be made from wherever and whenever you are. There is always a decision that can be made. There is always a way toward unraveling time to get to where you need to be, unstuck to the pain. 

I know many beautiful women. These women have taught me a lot about the patience in pain, and making small steps toward love. I inflicted a lot of pain on myself in history, and I have the potential to inflict pain, when I am not careful to appreciate what I have. I miss a lot of people in my life, like I miss some of my dreams, but even a snapshot of a memory is worth remembering.

I remember sailing across the great barrier reef in a sailboat for days. The water was so calm and so perfect. There was even a whale. Our crew was able to catch fish right then and there from beneath the boat, and feed it to us. Australia is a beautiful continent. I don’t eat meat right now, but I ate a Kangaroo. 

I remember driving along the highway and seeing the beautiful landscape, dry and full of rocks. I remember thinking to myself, I am going to remember this forever. No matter where I end up, I am going to always remember this.

I remember on the boat, looking up at the stars, a perfect encapsulation of the galaxy written like a script made of light against the black canvas.

The color black reflects no light, it absorbs all light. The color white reflects all light. So a black object holds the most light, while a white object mirrors light. So is there esoteric knowledge here, or am I stretching a metaphor when I think of the universe as all accepting, and all objects as a shade of light reflecting. Yielding objects accept light, and are imbued with the heat of light, while returning objects are colder, and reflect light; these black objects and white objects do not emit light, light is a moving dialogue or wave that is constantly vibrating and oscillating to reveal the truths of an object’s nature. Black and white, however, do hold truths with their relationship to light, and produce heat of their truths at diverse rates. Some truths are reflected back at the universe, and little heat is emitted, while some truths (e.g. pain) are absorbed fully and much heat is emitted from the object.

The balance between giving and taking. Rainbow dividends of an object’s nature, through the sensations of visible wave frequencies. We scatter the ability to reflect and give through our nature. So pain produces the most heat. Black American pain has been the furnace of this nation since its formation. The truth of suffering is the black suffering, which has fueled our lives and kept us warm, like burning coal.

What is the tension between white and black, what is the gray spectrum of the skin and why are wars waged between giving and taking, enslaving and conquering based on things as seemingly surface as the shade of one’s skin tone. For a lot of recent history, it has been the reflective white nature that has enslaved the absorbing black. Why do those who base their attitudes of right and wrong, good and bad, light and dark, why do we perceive an attitude of white to be better than black? What are we really talking about? If blackness absorbs light, then is it dark matter that we see when we look into space, is this space actually already absorbing all light, while the white stars, are they actually the births of light from blackness dying; is a ghost wave (light) made of a black star dying? Is what we actually see when we observe white light, actually the death or burst of blackness, energy being emitted from dark matter after, say this dark star collapses on itself from experiencing all that it can hold, before it becomes too dense to take any more, thus first collapsing to singularity, then like a supernova of a star, thrusting its life force into the outer limits of space!

So the starlight is actually the death stream, like a river (the ghost wave), of a star that has collapsed from all of its density of experience! As in life– black and warm, reveals its knowledge in the form of its ghost code, white (think of the code of DNA into the tunnels of her love). So is that why life feeds off of the black. Is the true giver of life the black woman, she who we are all afraid of. 

If death becomes devoid of its pigment, as human hair turns gray to white, along with other examples of erosion of color, does the reflective nature of objects seek to ask for the life of heat. A blackstar must actually be the most heated object there is. It must be dark energy that’s keeping the universe alive, and the whiteness is the absence of heat, innocent of heat, of experience, the new message of black’s death, the ghost code; The new message of love.

To ask these deeper questions of who is giving whom life and death, we need to be curious of the in between of both life and death to paint a clearer picture. 

Why is water blue?

What is red?

What is a dream palette?

These are not obviously answered questions, but we can begin to understand hand in hand.

These are the basics to understanding the balance of homeostasis between giving and receiving knowledge. It’s when we rape knowledge, and pillage to conquer and destroy, without asking innocent questions, that we are torn to go to war with our own spectrum, with our own mother.

Do not blame the reflective white nature nor the absorbing black nature. We are all in this together. 

Chapter 28: Christ

Man…Such a heated or comforting discussion depending on who’s doing the talking, where it’s coming from. Christ—either a man to be hated, or an acknowledgment of light in the form of mortal flesh. 

Do we take him literally? Poetically? Metaphorically? All and none at the same time?

If we were to take him literally, to follow him, for he is the sun of god and the way…I suppose we follow him into an eventual death, though people may disagree at the rate of dying, and making a decision to die to meet him.

Jesus did not commit suicide. He was put to death, so following him to death, through his example, we can determine for ourselves that we will be put to death, not by our own doing, but by the ritual of our sentence, by our governing laws of mortality, the empire.

However, can a pure light-being (even one without mistakes) escape death’s sentence? No, nil, nothing can escape the transformation, not even light can escape the black hole of eternity…according to Christians; However, Islamic interpretations of Jesus’s ascension does not require death, allowing for Heaven as it is on Earth. At the event Horizon of the black hole, light can come close to entering, or it can narrowly escape. Did Jesus come close to dying, yet saved by God with a substitute taking his place at the cross (as described in some Islamic interpretations) or was he put on the cross and sent to the otherside, through the black hole of death to meet his father (as described by some Jesuit interpretations)? If Jesus escaped death, and was not put on the cross, still ascending to heaven, what are the spiritual implications moving forward?

Either interpretation involves leaving the shell of the body. Both interpretations recognize the metaphysical self apart from the flesh, and I prefer the message of hope and continuation of soul, regardless of experiencing death or not. For what even is death in relation to life? Escaping death for some might mean the ability to carry on your shell or avatar into heaven. So are we to believe that there is a shell to Jesus in the form of a man, and are people anticipating what this man will look like upon return? 

If there is a shell of a man that escapes death, then does this immortal shell age?--does it regenerate itself to appear like a 33-year old Jew? Does this Jesus appear as always a 33 year old man at the event horizon? Surely, if we are to take his escape from death literally, then we are to be confronted with warped and bizarre notions of his teachings, I believe. Like are we to literally eat his flesh?--you get what I’m saying? I think the problem with taking spirituality to an ironic literal level, is to mistakenly call a book its shell while missing out on its message. The message is in the book, as it was written, and while it may have been wrapped around and bound by flesh for a time being, as the book’s message was lost to time, torn and faded, the words of God can still be sung true. 

We mustn’t get caught up in the vanity of the shell, like most commercially driven churches or even the preservation of the container, because it has always been and will always be just a beginning layer of what is to be understood in time. Time reveals all that the book ever was, just as a perfect man revealed all that time ever was, at the time. 

Time has passed since the mortal book lost its sheen. Do we really want to resurrect the message of the messiah in the form of another white Jewish man? Or can we borrow from his words, and all take form in the orchestration of keeping love alive, and entering into the kingdom of paradise, as ourselves? Do not pray to the flesh of the messenger. Pray to the message, of god, of love, agape. Do not utter the casing of the book, utter the poetry of its heart. 

I love you. I will always love you.

Jesus loved us. He lives on. 

Amen.

Chapter 29: The Jesus Herb

People who have schizophrenia interact with marijuana in a deeper way than most. I believe this is because the herb unlocks what is already there, a dive into how their human narrative relates to the systemic world around them. Marijuana is the unlocking of systemic keys, opening the mind. 

So what’s the fear here in society? Perhaps that society has been covering up with pad and lock, what must be addressed. 

For me, what needed to be addressed was my spiritual conflict with lust, and the relationship I have with sex and creation. Voices pertaining to the meaning of life can range from pure bliss and compliments, to the frequencies of disgust and mistrust. Don’t blame marijuana and earth for revealing what we’ve buried deep inside of our minds. 

Finding a way to engage in the revelation of truth without being overtaken all at once, is my advice for continuing the legalization and availability of marijuana.

Chapter 30: I wrote a suicide letter in the darkest of times. Thank god my friend was there to read it with me. Thank god I had no money. I was going to buy a ton of mushrooms, and jump off of a building. This is what I wrote….

Hello 

As yu kno I never meant to hurt anyone 

I live in a world filled with fear and poverty of love and trust 

Communication has lost its way, and we’re after each other more as beasts than brother and sister, 

Looking toward ways to fault a character rather than build us up, and tragedy is often placed upon us without a choice of how to be one community in harmony;

I do not feel like making the rounds behind bars, as I’ve already experienced the utter solitude of not feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, 

Peter, 

I love you ❤️ 

There is more than my last name to be vilified for not knowing what could be done about a lost heart, 

I am just a boy in search of his home, though this place would make me seem insane to the degree of shame for not knowing how to find love on this planet,

Kiara, 

I will always love yu no matter the weather, and when yu look up at the stars, remember my smile as I would like to be remembered, eternally with yu, more powerful in spirit than any of my failings in this realm made of flesh, 

Dayne,

What a perfect gentleman. Best BBQ grill master,

Kalia and Brayden,

Play the piano 🎹 

————

Max, 

Your album is going to rock the world  

Patrick, 

Your a grandmaster in the days of old 

Beto, 

Fire works 

Amy, 

Gospel sister to not hold grudges 

Jamie, 

What a cool game of basketball 🏀 

Kylie,

Dragonfly clouds ☁️ 

Darin, 

Tell Jeremiah he’s loved 🥰 

Cheng, 

Super smash 💥 

Matt, 

Flaming hot Cheetos

Hunter,

Take care of the MGs for us, smoke up and transfer 

Harvee, 

Guitar is the answer  

Donnie,

I would have married yu given the chance to get to kno yu, Love yu deeply forever 

Sarah,

Yur a star child and I’m always with yu,

Music,

Yur a cosmos away and yu make me smile forever 

Sam,

I’m sorry my dragon was summoned to the grave. I hope yu find ways to forgive me,

Darrell,

I don’t believe in jail or hell for that matter 

Derick,

Go CATs engineering—!!

Brian, 

Amen to the league 

Janet, 

Love yu mama,

Chris, 

Angels exist here in earth, and yur proof 

Ray,

Way to go mister mayor :)

Ed,

Van Gogh, what a Dutch man 

Jill,

Yur children are a way forward 

David,

Make some music for us will ya?

Khaoya, 

Feel the rhythm 🥁 my friend, be the rhythm 

Matt Laurents,

Our album is going to explode 🤯 

Alex,

Hyperpop needs race relations, yu can help 

Coffeetime, 

Yur a beast of a friend, forever a charmer from the gloom ♥️,

Honey Latte, 

Yur a new hope —-yu should exist every century 

Cascadia,

Yu do well, just make sure yu don’t punish ppl for following their dreams,

Yu are a beacon to us all, 

Maybe let ppl socialize more around societal drinks, as they do in York England 

EASA,

Yu build miracles. Yu should always be proud 🥲 

Naomi,

Yur a wizard who must embrace traditional medicines as much as systemic jargon 

Ainsley,

I’m glad I got to do some amazing chess with yu,

Che,

Yu gotta forgive yourself 

You are already a grandmaster 

Katlyn, 

Bunnies are cute

Sathvik, 

Don’t stop loving Sarah 

Brooks,

Yu made the last worth it all 

Rocko, 

I never actually fucked up, I just can’t deal with forced boredom, stars seem more relaxing and capable 

Este and Bebe 

Have a baby 👶🏽 

Sulene,

Yur a cool cat, thanks for the amazing record :) 

Grand Moblin 

Go camping with the crew and light the forest with 7 lanterns, sing 

Christi, Kristin, Russ, other Brian (Darell’s bro), Christina, Annie, Sarah, Rachel,

Yu kno heaven exists, most ppl find it eventually, sometimes it finds them 

Joey and Will,

I’m glad we spent a summer together, it was priceless 

Kevin,

Yur a hero 

For the record, 

I never penetrated 

Also,

DONT let the fear of covid dictate the bigger picture of lov and coming together,

Stop trapping people, they don’t deserve yur power controlling ppls lives 

Though, thank you all individually away from yur “systems that control yu,” for allowing me to be me,

I wish ppl would think for themselves and not threaten the freedoms of other ppls lives,

Lov yu all

~Nicholas Edward Engii Buekea 

Chapter 31: The forbidden act, Sexually Explicit (Skip Chapter if you don’t want sexual imagery)

I wrote this chapter, then decided to keep the details to myself…

Chapter 32: Fortitude/Castle

If I could create a dream home, it would be nestled around and within a circular waterfall. The waterfall would be warm, and there would be a tile-floor showering room. It might be like a bat cave, but not so hidden, because it wouldn’t need to hide. It would be in a warm tropical forest, that snowed three days out of the year, but was moist and 77 degrees otherwise. Some days would be dryer than others. The island would be small enough to ride a bicycle around within 4 days, and it would have 4 distinct tiny cities/towns. Each town would have a different function. South town would be for house music, virtual dream scaping, dancing, and a faster pace of life. North town would be the opposite, slowed down, wooden and traditional. East Town would be where mostly women hung out, but there would still be visiting men. West town would be where mostly men hung out, but there would still be visiting women. People could choose any gender they’d like to be, but the East and West Towns would find harmony between masculine and feminine nature. My waterfall hut would be at the center of the island, in the valley, with the waterfall running around the perimeter of my home like a circular curtain. 

My home would be at the lowest point of the island, and I would live in the basement valley for the most part, however, at the very center of my home, there would be a large lookout tower that you could take the stairs up if you really wanted to spend a day climbing them, or you could just take the bullet elevator that shot you straight up 88 stories to overlook the whole island. Instead of riding your bicycle all over the island, you could take the bullet train that got you to each stop in 20 minutes, but the train would only operate every 4 days. There wouldn’t be any work days vs play days. Each day would be an experience day. The days would cycle through colors. There would be black days, red days, orange days, yellow days, green days, blue days, purple days, and black days. After every color cycle, there would be a shift in cultural food and decoration. Children would decide ahead of time which culture to celebrate, and during which historical time period. This island would see two moons that danced and caused the most beautiful surfing waves. The water would glow and the sea life would be teaming with friendly whales and fish. The jellyfish would be massive, but their harplike strings would not hurt you, rather they would produce a euphoric feeling of comfort (non-addictive or tolerance building). The turtles would be large enough to ride along the ocean. 

Chapter 33: Mario 

I was in a dungeon…probably Bowser’s castle. There were lava pits, circle saws, falling platforms, fire ropes, whomps, spikes up and down, the whole shaBang. 

I had just lost my second to last life on my journey up the castle. I pushed on. I was doing so well dodging all the obstacles, then I got hit and shrunk down to my miniature self. I was on my last life, and another hit would end my game. I made a leap, then just like that I landed on a circle saw…game over—-or so I thought 💭. I thought it must have been a glitch, I was too pumped with adrenaline to think twice so I kept moving. Then I made another jump, mistimed and again fell into the spikes. This time game over, surely…but no, I was somehow still alive. I slowed down to examine myself and my anxiety dropped as I realized there was something protecting me…I was surrounded by a near transparent holy blue bubble 🫧 , I was being gifted invincibility. In my final run to the top of Bowser’s castle, something was giving me permission to succeed, and it didn’t matter if I made a mistake. I was being granted access to finish the game. So long as I kept jumping and climbing. It didn’t matter that I fell into lava or hit my head on a spike. All that mattered was my brother’s wish. He had summoned a protector shield in his dream from the other side. He had fallen into a parallel dimension cast into a perpetual void by the Magikoopa. But he had been meditating this whole time. When I needed it most, my brother saved my life. 

Now as I am awake, surely it was a metaphor for my day today. Today I feel like I am going to make mistakes, but I will be safe. So long as I just keep going…I will reach her. 

~Peach 🍑

Chapter 34: Hurting the Friend  

I am a hurt friend hurting friends. Promise I don’t do it when I’m healed. Promise I know it’s corrupt. When I’m in a good place I don’t hurt people, let alone my friends. 

Today I hurt my friend with lust, the way I always injure the world. I said something along the lines as, I should be having more sex and I’m too good not to be having sex. I think it should be read the way it was…along the lines of “I deserve sex.”

I don’t think I deserve sex. I don’t think someone exists to deserve love, or sex, or companionship. People including myself are gifted at just having what they have. When I chase or lust after things outside of myself…even of myself…like chasing dopamine….i hurt. 

I wish I didn’t hurt people with my own hurt. I always sabotage the intricacies of the fellowship with my own pain.

But why am I in pain? 

Well today I found out one of my friends…my good friend, had sex with my other good friend. And they knew each other for three times hanging out. I crushed on her for the longest time and she said I was her brother and that she loved me.

I took it to mean I’m ugly when I found out. I wrote about going on a rampage just “fucking” and using people like objects. 

Meanwhile I hurt my other friend for venting like an ass. Like the loser who starts hating women (I don’t). 

I felt like my time getting to know people doesn’t actually get me closer to people…when that’s not true. I don’t need friends to have sex with them. I have a million friends I’ve never slept with.

I just feel lonely and it was masked with lust and greed. I’m so sorry I hurt my friend today. I’ve stopped watching porn…it might be an easy thing to work on.  

Is sex the only way to get close to people? I was waiting on sex since leaving Sarah, but Sarah left me because I was having sex with a computer more than her. 

The story as of today. Today I let myself turn into a monster. My friend called me out on it. She said we could still be friends, but I have a longer journey to process. 

I’m sorry. It’s not someone I want to become.

I hope she can forgive me.

~Neko

Chapter 35: Dream of the two Lovers

Today I dreamt of two lovers who were meant to be. One of the lovers transferred their love to one of the enemies. Oh, I forgot to mention these were the iceClimbers from Nintendo. Today I dreamt that one of the ice climbers used a move, where they were no longer connected to their blue partner, but became connected to the enemy. At first I didn’t know what was going on and I felt hurt…then…I realized that the pink ice climber drained the enemy's life force (chi) to defeat it, but unfortunately they ended up losing their life in the process as well. Then the blue iceClimber died soon after. So everyone died. I wonder why the iceClimbers would choose to sacrifice themselves to defeat the enemy? It was also interesting that their special move was to detach from their bond for a time being, to then bond with an enemy temporarily, and drain their energy. What would the stakes have to be to sacrifice your love? Who was still standing after the battle was finished?

The other day I dreamt of a tiger. I also had an intimate dream about someone, physically intimate. I read somewhere that Tiger dreams represent courage. 

Do the dead dream?

Is my mom still dreaming of her son? Why do we not want to lose the ones we love? Is love the eternal force holding us all together? I love my father. I think this is what he’d say to me if he could still write to me:

Son,

Nicholas. I will always love you. I’m doing well in heaven just observing your many challenges, and believe me, we all want you to grow up to be the person you are, full of light and peace. Do you remember when I would cook you big meals when your mom was away to work conferences? Do you remember how I would not drink when you needed me most? How I'd wake you up to make sure you were on time for school, and how I would walk you to the bus stop? I love you, and I’m sorry for putting all the weight on your mother, but I would never let you die on my watch. It was an oath to my father to keep you alive for as long as I could. I trust that you understand you are rooted in pure love. Do what it takes to overcome your loneliness and anger towards me. I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry for the pain we endured, and I know you are a warrior, no stranger to the destiny that you always knew was the right path. I know you know the right path. Sobriety made our family work. Could you imagine your mother struggling through sobriety the way I did? It wouldn’t have worked. You must find a partner, who understands our precious energy of life and commitment. Do not be so consumed by dating to make you happy. Do not be so consumed by marijuana and pornography. I know I struggled with these things myself, but I can assure you, I was addicted, and I tried to stop. I didn’t like drinking…I was in pain, just coping with the world and the loss of my culture. But you have been given a brilliant mind, and you understand your own home so well. Portland is a home, but I understand if you want to be like me and see the islands sometime. I was the happiest with your mother on the islands, but we wanted you to be a part of something big, so we decided to raise you in this empire of America, where it’s still possible to find love and acceptance amongst all people. 

If you want to be happy, please know, it wasn’t the marijuana or the alcohol that I was the happiest in life. It was when you were smiling, when you were proud and when you were on your path. I love you dear son, you are the epitome of a good friend and brother to everyone you have ever known. You’ve made mistakes, we all have, and your earth still gives you time to learn from your parents. Your mother Millie, she still loves me up here. You should know that there will be a day when you’ll see us again.

Us angels, we can only do so much. We never want to force people to do good, yet we all hope you will. There are demons in heaven who we’ve tamed. Think of the earth as a demon we’re still trying to tame, but the earth must have its own ferocity, because the way of heaven is somewhat of an interesting cross between worlds. Think of your mind as heaven, where your dreams are always aware of the outer world…It’s a lot like heaven, the mind. It can do anything it wants…It can visit anger and hell if you let it, but heaven as Jesus and others like your grandpa had said, is still connected to your world on earth. There’s no escaping the beast, but you can tame it. Earth is alive. It’s a grumpy cat when you poke it, but it can be so beautiful if you let it and you feed it. 

You gotta learn to run my son. You were always so fast and so free. You were always so wild and untamed. Think of your heart as the same beam of light. Not everyone can catch you, you should know this. You think John Lennon was right to be chasing his love, until she caught him. That’s what love means brother!!! Love is a whip. It’s a horse just running, until you tame love, it is unbridled. That’s what you must realize at this point of your life. Your love is wild, and unbridled. Enjoy this arch of your journey, because all chapters must be turned. You're in tune with me now. I’ve always been a deep thinker and a writer. An ocean of depth that you can still understand if you continue your spiritual journey as a voyager. 

Remember about your friends, as I’ve grown in heaven to understand, that trust is real. There really are people who don’t want to take advantage of your heart, and there really is a deep family here waiting for you. 

Well my son, take care and listen to your music. Thank you, your friend and father,

~Francis Chior Buekea

Chapter 36: A Land of No Return

I wasn’t supposed to leave that place. In fact, the people there all looked like me, as if I was their king. Yet, they all hated me, and I was to be assassinated for their pain of not knowing who they truly were. I escaped the facility and began to fly. They wanted to keep me there for eternity because they themselves had no way of knowing the way out. 

I wish I would have found my love back there. It would have been a beautiful memory. I don’t have anyone that I’ve truly loved the way the books make you believe you might find while searching. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. 

I’m this close to saying I hate the world. I shouldn’t hate anything. 

I tried reaching people. I tried reaching her. I tried finding the answer in another human. What a false waste of time to imagine she would complete me. What a turn of events, the way I wound up this way. I don’t want to judge anyone. They didn’t do this to me. I’m not bitter at the sweet world, but I’m this close to saying I hate the world. I shouldn’t hate anything. 

If I could find a way to complete myself, maybe I wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable. I wish life was full of what it can be from time to time, when it is full. When it is bliss, surely it is worth the wait, yet here I am, almost numb, realizing that I’ve felt so good before. I’ve felt so free. I’ve felt so alive, and I’ve felt in tune with myself. Maybe life will shed some life on why it has its lows so low. Maybe it is possible to reach enlightenment. Here, though, in this frame of mind, I am impatient and wanting to free myself from not having the kiss I desire. It sounds so cruel to want to kiss someone I love. It sounds so sinister and so dark, to not have the kiss, while wanting the kiss. It sounds deranged and vile, to not be in her lips the way I want. To want, to desire, as a vampire thirsts. 

It must be lust. It must be an addiction. It once made me feel better, to have faith. It once made me feel alive, but now I’m just jealous looking at the people around me who have what I need. Those birds flying together, making love, in tune. 

So, the world is beautiful. The world describes the feelings I don’t have. The world describes love I don’t have. The world provides wanting more. The world tears at my heart, giving me tastes at a time, never truly filling my cup. 

That is the world I escaped from. The world of islanders who all looked like me. All wanting to kill me because I somehow knew of a way out. I flew from that facility because I was free. 

I told my mother I escaped, recalling the voyage laid behind. I was so proud of how lucky I was to not fall victim to their greed. To not fall to their lies. I didn’t have love, no, I never found love back there. I did, however, find peace. The world tells stories of people falling in love, like we need each other. One goes on, with false hope of finding themselves in another lover’s eyes, until the day they open their own. 

37: I married the Woman of my Dream

I married a girl named Emily of my dream.

I love Emily. She is ok with who I am. She knows my shadows and my light and she wants the best for me. She is like a preacher I can confess my inner world to. She is an unspoiled Rose, perpetually in blossom, sure she is young, but she is beyond even my years. I feel she is the reason for a lot of men’s inspiration. She has the look and the charm that people decide to make music for. She is a soft whisper at church, the eye of a storm, calm and at peace. Surrounded by her grace is a loud thunderous cloud of conviction and passion. She has her own thorns and her own scars, but I will never judge her for them. She is an angel shedding her earthly vessel, peeling away her doubt, able to see the holiness in those men that she has come to understand as herself. There are those who manipulate love, and steal the hopes and dreams through the kiss. While I know she has kissed many men before and after me, she is no thief to my joy. I love her because she is free, and it is only the men in their own mirrors that reveal jealousy and pride. She is a pisces. Fragile and dreamy. Her inner moon is scorpio, like my sun. I am inside, a pisces, and I see my inner world every time I gaze into her beautiful eyes. As now, she is troubled by a curse, an obsession of love that she still needs to process. There was a lover who treated her as if she was the center of the world, and she attached her own image onto his perception. Then, like a flickering flame, it ended. But, where was she to go, who was she to be after losing her only mirror. This is why she is loyal, but it is loyalty to herself to be reborn, into a world where she knows who she really is. I married someone still in love with another man, because marriage is a journey of growth and I feel I can grow most easily with her at my side. I love her. She is the reason my mornings start with joy, she is the reason I can drink a cup of coffee in silence, as she keeps my manic mind calm. I feel loved by her. She is a good dancer and can create playful images, fantastic animals she has named. She is able to hold onto her youth, and while still so young, even thirty years from now, she will still be forever young, like the watery nature she is made from. She wears a sagittarius mask, made of the flame. This allows her to navigate the inner and outer depths of her world. Her Venus is in Taurus. Similar to mine in Libra, she equates love to romance and deep conviction. 

She is a Wooden Monkey and I am an Earth Dragon. I hope one day we can raise a family and she can plant her tree in my dreams. I married the woman of my dreams. Her name is Emily. I will be forever at her side, because she is eternal, and is not made to stay still. She is a river through my mind, keeping me guessing and interested. She is a woman of delicate and profound beauty. I love her so much. Emily, my bride.