Before they are gone (Dream)


I am awake.

How long I have slept, I can’t tell. 

Rising from bed I come to face a mirror.

Tracks across my bare skin, I see them there. 


Footprints, paw prints, bird prints, 

prints of unknown beasts.

With a careful finger I follow the tracks, 

trying to make sense of what can not be. 


More, there is more. 

Pictures emerging, figures and faces, 

beings of this world and the next.

I marvel at the sight.


Fading, they are fading quick. 

Record them, photograph them,

commit them to memory

before they are gone. 

From a Dream – Crow and Stag

In my dreams last night I saw a symbol. Twice it appeared in different contexts and there my Dream-Self came to ponder its meaning.


It was drawn in black on a coloured background, like a silhouette against dusky skies. A stylized image, hints of a circle yet not fully drawn.

On one side the circle’s curved line lead to a stag.

On the other side of the circle the curved line blended into the shape of a gnarly old tree, and at the very top perched a bird, a crow or raven.


I feel as though I know it’s meaning, somewhere. It lingers at the back of my head like a forgotten memory. But, the more I strain to remember the further away it slips.


Something I know, at least.


I want to speak/Shedding skin

I want to speak of dreams. Those of you who follow this blog might have noticed that now and then I offer up a dream, setting out into the light that which otherwise would be locked inside my sleepy head. What my purpose is to posting dreams I am not quite sure of myself – surely dreams are a personal matter and not of interest to the rest of the world?

Still, I want to speak of them. Since I was a child, dreams have been an important part of my life. Of my identity and understanding of my own consciousness, and sometimes of the beyond.

Sometimes I get the urge to write more seriously about dreams too, explain what I have learned over years of studying my own. There is so much to say, I barely know where to begin.

Perhaps I should start with that which I woke up from this morning.



Few knew what had happened. Few remembered the violent, near cataclysmic breakdown of reality that had occurred that night. Much had been at stake, perhaps even everything, but we had survived. By the skin of our teeth, a morning had come. 

Those who did not possess the ability to see were oblivious. People woke up, went outside, went to work, not knowing what we had just lived through. I staggered out through a door, came out onto the street, exhausted. The struggle, the fight of last night, it had been all too real. 

Two women stood there, speaking casually over a bicycle. One of them glanced at me, and I remembered her. Knew that she knew. The other woman was oblivious, she chattered happily of nothing of importance. The one who remembered, I wished to speak to her. My mind was overflowing with impressions, memories, experiences. 

She was as shook up as I was, I could tell. A little pale, a little weak, exhausted and perhaps terrified. But to her friend, the one who was unable to remember, she said nothing. 

I looked down at my hands. The skin was melting away, exposing muscles, blood vessels, bones. It didn’t hurt. A glance at the others around, and I saw the same was happening to them. Slowly, one by one, they started to notice. It should have been unsettling, but it wasn’t. After all that had happened, we were shedding our skin. New would come. 

Just a Dream -Inked Hands

Just a dream


I felt weak. Cold and weak, I could not tell why. I laid down to rest but it didn’t help, it kept getting harder to focus my gaze and I wondered, had I fallen ill?

My hands felt cold, and they were tingling. I reached out for those around, touched their skin, asked if they could feel it, how strangely cold I was?

As I looked at my hands, they changed. Were those veins, turning black underneath the skin? Dark, lines were appearing, fading into existence. Not veins, I soon saw. Not veins, but swirling symbols, lines and dots, covering my hands.

They faded again, but my hands were still tingling. I could still feel it. When I looked closely I could see the faintest trace returning, those dark lines were still there, barely visible. I took a deep breath and set my mind to bringing them back. There they were, appearing again, as clear as day.

My concentration wavered and they started to fade, I could not hold it for long and soon my hands looked normal. The symbols were still there though, I could feel them.



I awoke, with a strange tingling sensation in my hands. Not painful, not unpleasant, merely strange. It still hasn’t passed.