sleepwalking

[Opulence]

 

 

[Opulence]

Become anything you want. Using the law of attraction. Let's see if this works.

[Opulence]

You cannot become god even if you want to.

[Opulence]

During my last sleepwalk, I imagined being on an island. Different frames. I met my ex there. I was with my family. There were images of bright colors intermixed into intense woven patterns plastered on all walls. Huge waves swarmed the ocean.

[No1Here2c]

2 hours ago, Opulence said:

You cannot become god even if you want to.

No but God has become you. Simply because it 'wanted to'.

What does that Truly make you?

Edited 13 hours ago by No1Here2c

[Opulence]

David McEwen.

 

 

[Opulence]

 

 

[Opulence]

Some of my healing might come from closely noticing my sleepwalk patterns. These patterns mirror certain aspects of my life. I might need resources on this. 

[Opulence]

2 hours ago, Opulence said:

During my last sleepwalk, I imagined being on an island. Different frames. I met my ex there. I was with my family. There were images of bright colors intermixed into intense woven patterns plastered on all walls. Huge waves swarmed the ocean.

Subtle cryptic signs and mirroring. 

[Opulence]

Highly productive schemas.

 

[Opulence]

Sleepwalk

During my last sleepwalk,

It began in a dim golden room that seemed endless, its floor completely buried beneath layers upon layers of blankets. Some were thick velvet in deep burgundy and forest green, others were faded cotton quilts stitched with tiny floral patterns, and a few shimmered faintly like woven moonlight. The air carried the comforting scent of warm fabric dried under sunlight, mixed with the softness of old memories. As I walked barefoot through the room, the blankets shifted gently like calm waves, rustling around my ankles with a hush that sounded almost like whispered reassurance. There was no fear in the space only an overwhelming invitation to rest, disappear, and be held.

I moved slowly through the sea of blankets, instinctively pulling certain ones closer to myself. One blanket felt heavy and protective, wrapping around my shoulders like armor against the outside world. Another was impossibly soft, pale cream in color, and seemed to melt warmth directly into my skin the moment I touched it. I gathered them carefully, building a cocoon around myself  layer by layer. With every blanket I drew nearer, the world outside the sleepwalk faded further away until all that remained was warmth, quietness, and the muffled rhythm of my own breathing. It felt less like hiding and more like returning somewhere ancient and safe a private sanctuary no one else could enter.

At some point, the room darkened into a peaceful twilight, and tiny floating particles of light drifted through the air like dust made of stars. Wrapped deeply within the blankets, I lied down and listened to the silence. The blankets no longer seemed ordinary each one carried a different emotion — comfort, grief, tenderness, loneliness, longing, protection. Yet instead of overwhelming me, they blended together into something nurturing and whole. The sleepwalk ended with the feeling of being completely enclosed in softness, as though the blankets themselves had become living guardians, shielding my heart from exhaustion and gently asking me to rest.