Enter the Temple to receive my offerings of sacred profanity: intimate writings from the inner sanctums of my heart. Here I embody the Trickster Heretic, sharing honest thoughts, grappling with messy ideas, and offering in-process musings that don't fit neatly into *any* dogma or ideology. The Temple of Heresy is open to other curious seekers and ideological nomads. As a gesture of trust and reciprocity, monetary exchange is required to cross the threshold.
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You have reached the threshold of the TEMPLE OF HERESY.
Cross at your own risk.
THE SHAPESHIFTING NATURE OF DREAMS
“You wished for this.”
I pull the card and stare at it, reminded once again that…
I dreamed of this.
There were points in my life where everything now in my current reality was a dream.
I say this with a kind of awe, and also a kind of confusion.
It doesn’t feel how I expected it to feel.
If I could reach back through time and space and tell my past self that she now works for a publisher in New York City, has three fiction books published, and is married with two children and a house, she'd be beside herself.
And maybe she is. Beside herself.
Maybe I am beside her now.
Maybe I was beside myself, reaching back to her through all the timelines, whispering to her, calling her forward into her dream.
The same way my future self is beside me now, calling me ever forward.
If I could also tell my past self that achieving these dreams hasn’t really satisfied her she’d be…very confused. Maybe even a little pissed off at me.
"But we’ve achieved everything we ever wanted. You’re living the dream. Aren’t you…grateful?”
The funny thing about dreams is they are slippery, shape-shifty. They shimmer like mirages until we reach them, at which point they dissolve and morph, change shape.
If you didn't know this is how dreams are supposed to be, you'd be very confused when this happens.
I think many of us are—confused. I know I was for a long time.
I am grateful. It’s just that…it’s complicated.
We've been sold a story about dreams that has been distorted by the overculture's obsession with "dreams coming true", as if there is a point in time when everything we dream of will come to fruition and we’ll live Happily Ever After.
What if we have just misunderstood the nature of dreams?
We are used to thinking of dreams as ideal realities that will one day appear. That will have a clear before and a clear after. And in the “after”, we can finally stop searching and “just live”.
But if searching isn’t living, then what have I been doing all this time?