LUCID DREAM ::
There was a teacher with one class. Every lesson was different but essentially the same. She had no recollection of past. The students would learn through her endless presence as it became clear she could not recollect past, only feel the present as it was. Every day she would show up to class and remember no one’s name. Only the responsibility to be present. It was a class in the mystical, the magical, it was a philosophy class that would abandon the very nature of the academy and of time and the world.
It was a living experiment unknown to the very educator presenting the living embodiment of the lesson. They would marvel at her ability to not remember, as it were, and yet in a larger context surrender every single day of life. (un-phased by time). There were theories as to her existence. There was a conspiracy to unravel her.
As legions of students would amass for this course in the mystical and the magical, so would suspicion. Because what is worshiped is the caricature of god presented by the ego (not a connection to the Divine), as well as time on an unconscious level. Her atheism was that of time.
( writing the lucid dream)
Poetry is anything that undresses her essence.
It is the recognition of Spirit that is love.
In this dream, I am hers.
When outside, all birds seem much louder than ever before. The sun hits the life of the world in a different way. The architecture of language matters to varying degrees to different people for different reasons as one feels the metaphor transform.