seeking_brilliance

I have never been bored in a dream, but I have had one or two where I was surprised I haven't woken up yet. Glad you found that part funny. ?

Haha I did not have this dream for real

To the Top - short story It was the longest dream I've ever had. I remember climbing what felt like an endless mountain, and all the little stops along the way-- whole cities carved into its glittering rocky side. At first I didn't know that I was dreaming, and everything just started out like normal (well, as normal as any dream can be.) Even before I was lucid, I found it very intriguing to visit the first few levels of the cavernous cities. Each one was so unique and beautiful, and the chiseled streets bursting with energy. The third city I visited was a bit more advanced than the previous, having learned to use crystals and gemstones as power sources for their crude technology. I got swept up in a particularly odd side-quest, in which I followed a group of gem miners deep into the heart of the mountain. One of them fell into a bottomless pit on the way to a big score. The bridge across the pit had snapped, and I wasn't strong enough to save her. Despair hit me like a swinging axe, when suddenly she plopped out of the ceiling and landed safely on the other side. Here, I learned that each city is stuck on their respective levels in some sort of safety loop. At least it made sense while I was dreaming; and even as I began to gain lucidity I was bound to this limiting law of the dream. The only way to travel to another city was to head back to the face of the mountain, and fly up and away (a gift none of the inhabitants seemed to possess.) Somewhere around the fifth city, I was fully aware that I was dreaming. Even by that point it felt as if this had been going on forever. I decided to explore this city while lucid, and just see if I could make it to the next before waking up (typically my dreams break down not long after realizing.) This city was the most brilliant yet, as the inner dwellings were all made of giant glowing crystals and the moist air buzzed with power. The dwellers showed signs of telepathic technology-- or in other words, their thoughts were transmitted to a crystal tablet which they wore on top of their heads. I flew straight to the nearest crystal headband store and delightfully joined in on the fun. However, despite these advances, the inhabitants still squabbled amongst themselves and prayed to money. The sixth and seventh cities were exponentially more advanced and unique; but as I continued to dream, I noticed an increasing loss of enthusiasm for exploring. This was dragging on so long, I found myself getting bored and thinking about stuff I needed to do tomorrow after waking up. Those bills don't pay themselves, ya know. "If I ever wake up, that is" I said, sitting in on an impromptu performance of the most angelic choir and crystal symphony. Don't get me wrong: I was also able to enjoy the music, but a sense of anxiety begins to build when you don't know how long you've been asleep. For all I knew, my phone could be ringing off the hook because I've dreamed through my alarm and running late for work. I stopped for a moment and listened; I heard nothing but the choir. I flew up past a few levels, and only stopped briefly at the eleventh because there were lots of fireworks. Crystal-optic projections, most likely-- but just as spectacular, if not more. They seemed to be celebrating something huge; and as I climbed the mountain, the inhabitants had now gained the ability to fly, like me. They were also able to travel between levels, but appeared as unrecognizable to the lower caverns. This struck me as odd, because I'm able to interact with all levels; but then again, it was just a dream, right? I wanted to wake up. Something within told me that I would have to reach the top of the mountain to do so, but the higher I climbed, the top seemed further and further away. I began to worry about my loved ones. Hopefully I wasn't lying in bed in some kind of sleep coma. I could only imagine my wife calling the ambulance and my daughter crying because her daddy wouldn't wake up. Every possible dramatic scenario rushed through my mind as I climbed ever higher, never quite able to reach the top. It came to a point where I realized I was never going to wake up. This was hard to accept at first, so I stopped into some random high level city and received a quantum healing to help me think. I just had to reach the top of the mountain... if I didn't wake up, it would hurt those who miss me. As the gaseous crystals flooded my being, I was presented with quite another thought: I'm already there. It was true. I could sense myself standing at the top, arms spread wide and taking in the glorious freedom. This was naught but a fleeting glimpse tucked away in a hidden corner of my mind; yet seeing it now, I needed no reassurance. This whole climb was a distraction from what's truly there in front of me. I could see now, I was always there, already at the top of the mountain. I could wake myself up at any time. ************* Kelly grunted in the light of my phone, and rolled over. It was 4 a.m. and pleasantly satisfied, I remembered it was my day off and went back to sleep.

@Eternal Unity love that! It's like a narrative self inquiry. ♥️ Do you have more like this? And my answer: water

@Hulia thanks, it was fun to make! ?

You can, but you're looking for the wrong thing. I made these videos to help you.

HIDDEN COVE Exploring the beach one day, I stumbled upon a hidden cove tucked away between high walls of stone. I had been stranded on this island for days, and this was probably the first time I smiled. I guess I thought-- If I'm to die here, at least I have an amazing yard. So this is where I built my first permanent shelter. It was small and flimsy, and the island's monkeys came down and ransacked it along with my stores of coconuts. I learned to bury my food, and rebuilt the shelter with extra palm leaves and timber. Over time I gathered enough materials to make crude tools and built a stronger dwelling, this one more of a hut or shack. There was no door of course, but plenty of time. Not much of the plane washed up on shore, though eventually there was enough to craft a nice tin roof. I know that doesn't seem much, but believe me: the prospect of a dry night during wet season was life changing. It surprised me how quickly I settled into this new life. I had seen all the movies (and that famous show) and although nothing could ever prepare me for the actual experience, I felt a bit guilty for how little I missed home. Sure, I'd kill for a warm meal or a super venti cold foam latte; but I left single, and dad was well cared for at Oak Valley retirement village. Last we spoke, he was playing croquet in golf carts, and had asked Margaret to ride with him. His new neighbor, Margaret was widowed since before I started pilot lessons. So anyway... I knew he'd be fine without me, if it ever came to that. No sight of searchers yet, and I'd been burning a smoke stack on the open beach since day one. I never made friends with the monkeys, though we had a mutual agreement over coconuts and bananas. The agreement was that we both love these fruits and the monkeys had complete dibs on any they found. Luckily I discovered an area they wouldn't touch--because, I learned, the tall water birds are quite territorial. There were less of them mid morning, but I don't think I got a single meal without beating off a giant bird or two. With time, the shack grew to a cabin. Still very small, as I don't need much home space; but I wanted a bench and a table for projects, and a porch facing the hidden cove. Here I would sit and whittle, and melt into the crashing waves. Once night, I walked to the beach and snuffed out the fire. Maybe I'll try teaching the monkeys sign language.

HIDDEN COVE Exploring the beach one day, I stumbled upon a hidden cove tucked away between high walls of stone. I had been stranded on this island for days, and this was probably the first time I smiled. I guess I thought-- If I'm to die here, at least I have an amazing yard. So this is where I built my first permanent shelter. It was small and flimsy, and the island's monkeys came down and ransacked it along with my stores of coconuts. I learned to bury my food, and rebuilt the shelter with extra palm leaves and timber. Over time I gathered enough materials to make crude tools and built a stronger dwelling, this one more of a hut or shack. There was no door of course, but plenty of time. Not much of the plane washed up on shore, though eventually there was enough to craft a nice tin roof. I know that doesn't seem much, but believe me: the prospect of a dry night during wet season was life changing. It surprised me how quickly I settled into this new life. I had seen all the movies (and that famous show) and although nothing could ever prepare me for the actual experience, I felt a bit guilty for how little I missed home. Sure, I'd kill for a warm meal or a super venti cold foam latte; but I left single, and dad was well cared for at Oak Valley retirement village. Last we spoke, he was playing croquet in golf carts, and had asked Margaret to ride with him. His new neighbor, Margaret was widowed since before I started pilot lessons. So anyway... I knew he'd be fine without me, if it ever came to that. No sight of searchers yet, and I'd been burning a smoke stack on the open beach since day one. I never made friends with the monkeys, though we had a mutual agreement over coconuts and bananas. The agreement was that we both love these fruits and the monkeys had complete dibs on any they found. Luckily I discovered an area they wouldn't touch--because, I learned, the tall water birds are quite territorial. There were less of them mid morning, but I don't think I got a single meal without beating off a giant bird or two. With time, the shack grew to a cabin. Still very small, as I don't need much home space; but I wanted a bench and a table for projects, and a porch facing the hidden cove. Here I would sit and whittle, and melt into the crashing waves. Once night, I walked to the beach and snuffed out the fire. Maybe I'll try teaching the monkeys sign language.

There once stood a mountain, hiding amongst all the rest, in a place of existence far beyond worldly measure. The mountain was of heavenly form both within and without, and deep inside its echoing depths was built a kingdom--a vast network of earthly chambers all connecting in interlocking cylindrical patterns. Here Terrance the fourth, king under the mountain, ruled for countless ages. His daughter Sophia knew the kingdom like the back of her hand... better, even. She had spent many a youths wandering it's mysterious halls, godly palaces and candlelit courtyards, quiet as stone. Soon she would be mature enough to venture to the surface. Mother and father had been preparing her for this longer than she could ever know, despite all of the accumulated wisdom. There was just one final test... One last chance to prove she was ready. It's common for a mountain dweller to forget everything when rising to the surface (really, it's a welcome part of the journey). Sophia was tasked with remembering herself, with no help from outside forces. Queen Clara blinded her daughter's mind for just a moment - - then asked: "Do you know who you are?" Sophia looked around her bedroom with bright eyes, seeing it again for the first time. The Queen repeated - - "Do you know yourself?" Sophia now locked eyes with the questioner, as if finally recognizing their presence and inquiry. Her eyes closed gently and she just laughed, whole-heartedly. Pleased, the Queen restored her daughter and wrapped around her in a loving embrace. "Go now, my child. Explore! I'll be seeing you around..."

@Hulia haha that's alright. But please take pride in what you wrote! It was really good ?

you and me are two words describing the same (non)thing, rather poorly by listing apparent attributes. Forced perspective are two more.

@Hulia I know, If you want to keep it as a comment on his post, that's fine. BUT if you make it in your own post, I can add the tag #contribution - - it makes it easier for everyone to find the contributions, and inspire them to try it out too.

@Eternal Unity Thank you! This style of scriptive narrative writing is really interesting. I used to implement it a bit by suddenly throwing randomly into my novel. (and no, there's no novel ?) It's rather long so I'll have to read it later. Would you like to try writing a flash fiction to a painting? Check out my music playlist. All of these are made from paintings submitted by club members. There are many more in the club page and some really great ones that I haven't gotten to yet. I'm still scouting for more writers and musicians, because it's way more fun with participation. Come check it out ? ,( phone bug below)

@Myioko wow that was so great. I kind of feel sorry for the siren? she doesn't seem so bad after all, I'll just make sure to not get eaten.

@Myioko @Hulia both of your poems are great! I would love for either of you to post them in the club. If you decide to, I will send you the image and then you post the poem with the image as a club contribution. (the club is private now Btw) no pressure of course.

@Eternal Unity yes, it was a fun read

@Eternal Unity @Eternal Unity What is this from? Is this your writing? Google was no help on the title.. ?

Song of the Siren (art by Patrick Jeremy McCollum) ******************* Captain's log - May 22nd, 1783 We spotted land today, and are sure to arrive by tomorrow's morn. The search has been long and wearisome, but the crew has found a new vigor in hope of sand beneath their feet once more. Or perhaps it’s the song we've been hearing, rising up from the crashing waves in sweet intoxication. A maiden's voice I believe, I can hear it even now. Jensen, a close friend and counsellor, assures us that it is naught but an effect of cabin fever-- simply a wistful mirage in the last stretch of our journey. ********** Coming back now, I wast drawn away for a moment. While I wrote, the singing appeared to grow louder- as if coming from directly under the windows across the back of my cabin. It grew fainter as I approached; yet by the hair on my chin I surely saw a fine lass bobbing up and down amongst the waves. She was gone in a flash, but even now the song penetrates the cabin-- calling me. Her voice is as an angel, but what she sings is not of any tongue I've ever heard. However, my mind swims with something I wish to put into words: Come now, down to the sea Down you plunge, down to me. Bring no possessions- nothing you'll need Give up the air, the grass and tree, down to the sea- down, down to me. Perhaps I need to get off this damn ship. Yes, tomorrow's light will be good for us all. Captain's log - May 24th, 1783 Oh great and merciful God, save us all! Deliver us from this wretched place and have pity on all poor souls who needlessly stumble upon these accursed shores! Never again shall I strike your name if you save what remains of my crew from the sea hag's grasp. How thou could create such a foul creature of evil is far beyond this mere mortal to understand. I only pray that you have planned a dark fate for this grotesque lady of the water. Her song still echoes in the corners of my mind. Her face haunts me in the darkness, even when I close my eyes. I shall be mad by the ring of dinner's bell. To recount: we lost five good, strong men yesterday. Upon reaching the shores of a strange land not drawn on any of our maps, the seductive song stole our legs as well as our minds- and one by one my crew marched for a nearby cave. Even I felt the ghastly pull, though something held me back, along with some men who are perhaps of stronger will. Still, we could only stand immobile on deck, eyes transfixed upon the mysterious cave by the shore. Never has such a spell wrapped around my heart, an icy grasp in an angel's glove. Suddenly the song was accompanied by a multitude of echoing screams, and for one stupored moment they seemed to harmonise in some etherial chorus. Such was the spell of the siren of the sea: our souls entranced as she feasted on the bones of my crew. How the spell was broken, no one rightly knows. Perhaps she had her fill. Perhaps the devil himself stepped in to drag his wicked daughter back to her watery grave. No matter. What remained of my crew scurried back to the ship and we fled as quickly as possible. For all who sail these seas, beware the siren's song. If you hear it, turn around immediately and retreat. I pray your soul be spared.... @abrakamowse @Myioko

Sometimes with writing, I also don't identify with a certain genre. So I make one up. It's very freeing to know all the rules, but not bound to follow any of them. Who knows maybe the island of 'Kiss' will just pop up out of nowhere. (except one rule : it must be pleasing to society's ear. Perhaps that is the ocean on which we sail. The instrument, our vessel.)

Have you landed yet?

Does not compute ?

@Myioko I will admit to editing *some * stumbles out, but only if I can do it seamlessly. ??