Sometimes, in the quiet hours between dreaming and waking, I enter a space that feels more real than anything else.
It’s not a dream, and not a vision with a story. It’s a living field of intricate, flowing patterns —woven and shifting, infinite and detailed beyond anything I could ever draw.
From this field, images emerge. Each one seems born directly from whatever feeling I carry in that exact moment — as if image is just a projection of emotion.
The images don’t tell a story. They simply are — rising, dissolving, giving way to new ones, three, four, sometimes five passing through before the connection begins to thin.
During these moments, there’s a feeling of pure connectedness — a sense that I am experiencing reality before it gets shaped into thoughts, words, and separate things. A deeper reality, raw and vivid and alive.
I’ve noticed that the less I react, the more I simply witness without grasping, the longer the patterns stay. But even then, they are delicate — never something to catch or hold, only to be touched lightly with awareness.
I don’t know why these glimpses come, or what they ultimately mean. I only know that when I’m inside them, I feel awake, at home — watching reality being formed, one breath, one feeling, one image at a time.
And tonight, I simply wanted to leave a small candle burning here — in case you, too, have touched the unseen patterns behind life, and wondered if they were real.
They are.
