Herbert Hilliard | Dreamwhack: Insightful Dream Forums

Broken Sparrow

Perched high at the edge of a cliff is a broken sparrow. The sparrow is broken in the sense that its spirit is disturbed. Disturbed by the air flows of its life experiences that restricts its ability to soar in the wind as it is meant to.

The sparrow watches longingly at the vastness of its surroundings knowing that the only limits to it are those it places on itself. Limits that hinder its movements and restrain a deeper understanding of itself.

With a song the sparrow chips, squeals, and whistles {see songs that sparrow makes), in distress of its self-imposed restraints. Self-imposed restraints are products of the sparrow’s learning and life experiences. Life experiences that the sparrow made for itself.

Then seemingly out of context of the sparrow’s current feelings of despair, the sparrow makes soft, contented warbles and chirps. These soft warbles and chirps are a sign that the sparrow may feel compressed but is not defeated.

The air is life-sustaining. The ground and the water provide rest and food. The currents of winds are portals for mobility. And its wings, though battered, are suitable for flight. Wings of the sparrow that are suitable for flight with the right state of mind. A state of mind that tells the sparrow that it will not allow a transient attitude to alter its inherent disposition.

A pebble becomes dislodged above the sparrow and nearly smacks the sparrow’s head as it falls from the cliff. Instinctively the sparrow slightly moves its head out of the path of the pebble’s impending impact to its head.

For safety reasons as it is perched at the edge of a high cliff, the sparrow did not watch the pebble as it continued its fall to the ground but heard its impact. An instant is all that it takes for everything to change is the sparrow’s thoughtful consideration of the event that occurred.

The sparrow looks out into the distance and flutters its wings. Dust is produced when the sparrow flutters its wings. With effort and persistence, it can gradually wear away this cliff and the mountain that supports it the sparrow thinks.

The insistent sounds of chips, squeals, and whistles indicating distress are now replaced by a chorus of soft warbles and chirps indicating a renewed confidence in the sparrow’s ability to improve its situation. Improve its circumstances for the better, taking hits as they come while delivering its blows.

With a leap, the sparrow frees itself from the edge of the cliff. A wind flowing into all possibilities catches the sparrow, and it soars,

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The Search

Recent Posts / Herbert Hilliard

The Search. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, the seeker sets out on an amazing quest to find the elusive magic wand. For years, the seeker’s imagination reached great heights of expectation, only to be let down by how reality turned out. The seeker was certain that there must be a point at which reality and imagination meet to create a fresh expression and an amazing cognitive experience. The decision to search is thus made.

One rainy day marked the start of the seekers’ quest for the legendary magic wand. For a few seconds, torrential rain falls, but it soon stops. For hours, this pattern of intense rain followed by periods of no rain served as the catalyst for the seekers’ quest to realize the persistent fantasy that haunted him. Every self-assessment of the seeker’s life highlighted the persistent fantasy and increased the necessity of pursuing the dream to transform his life.

The zigzag pattern of lightning electrified the air after a sudden sonic shock of a thunderclap that made it sound like the planet had exploded. The seeker is startled by the abrupt violence in the atmosphere and falls backwards into a tree that at the same time is struck by a lightning strike. The ground beneath the tree erupts, the tree splits in two, the seeker is pushed into the crevice, and a hole in the ground that is the same diameter as the tree develops into an abyss or bottomless chasm.

Something as dramatic as this was not on the seeker’s agenda when he set out on his fantasy quest. Before a thought could be formed in the seeker’s mind, the entire environment has quickly shapeshifted creating a new reality by a fortuitous lightning strike. The soil is making a rumbling sound and pressing hard against the seeker as he descends into a netherworld that is diametrically opposite to the fanciful mental images conceived of the illusive magic wand so desperately desired.

The seeker is convinced that he has reached the end of his search for the phantasmic magic wand before the search begins. Fragments of the lightning struck tree are falling as well giving off a reddish glow as if on fire. For as long as the seeker can remember the delusive appearance of a longed-for reality perceived by the mind has been a source of comfort and endurance in the face of relentless disappointments.

Curiosity appears to have brought about calamity. The search seems to have ended abruptly. The true nature of reality will ever be obscured by a mirage of itself. The window will never be opened. The heat of the day will consume the withered leaf. And even more, the sun will raise in the west and set in the east.

When the conclusion of wishful thinking seemed apparent a vast opening appeared. The clutches of the soil dispersed from around the seeker. The tree fragments that appeared as fire cooled becoming ash carried away by an unknown element. Without wings the seeker glides in an environment of the mind that cannot be described.

The wind was not as the air remained fresh and still. The inner earth became a cosmos unto itself, and every dimension materialized in a single sphere. The mystical magic wand has been found, and its seat of origin and ultimate fulfillment is in the disposition of the seeker’s mind.

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What is life without dreams

Recent Posts / Herbert Hilliard

What is life without dreams? Dreams stir the mind beyond the processes of natural instincts. Dreams stimulates brain activities while you are asleep. Dreams are windows to your inner self. Dreams are your avenues into other dimensions.

It is the desire of most people to have good dreams instead of nightmares, but any type of dream serves it purpose of creative thinking or imagining. Imagining the dawn of day or the comfort of cooling shade on a hot day or caressing warmth when it is cold. Considering this, what are the proper approaches to dream creations?

As little stress as possible would be a good starting point for dream creations especially if your desire is to create good dreams. I dream of something special approaching me from a world all its own. This specialty is coming closer and closer to break the vail between the conscious and the unconscious in my life. I am experiencing flowing emotions as the strong suit of promise creates a delightful rift in my everyday realities.

I concentrate on aspects of this one dream in the hopes that I will invoke it into my sleep. I embed certain features into the remembrance of this dream that I want to act out when this dream occurs again. Unfortunately, the dream does not return because I have not developed the cognitive skills to control and manipulate the dream functions of my brain, yet. However, the keen remembrance of this dream gives me a solid foundation to construct upon.

So, what is life without dreams? An empty head looking for something to think about beyond food and drink. During my dreams I experience the radiant frequencies of another world. Some of these experiences are troubling and others are satisfying. I dream of walking in the dark canvas of the universe approaching a being of charm and splendor. I am as beautiful as the twinkling lights lovingly sprinkled upon this canvas of darkness. I reach out to touch the magnificent qualities of my dream, and suddenly I am awake.

It seems that reoccurring dreams are restricted to the not so good ones, at least for me, and many of the delightful ones disappear without a trace when I awake. Not being able to control or recall such an important aspect of my life is unacceptable, therefore, I am determined to develop the proper techniques for dream creations.

Over a million years ago, when people were not locked into a dependance of material gadgets, the ability to create dreams was commonplace. They could easily move huge stones with their minds and knew the secrets of sound vibrations and could teleport themselves, even to the belt of Orion and the dimmest star of the Siris star system.

All these human mental abilities became greatly diminished, and even lost when the Milky Way galaxy moved into a different region in the universe triggering the onslaught of ice ages, the most recent one causing people to evolve who lack all spiritual connection to the cosmos and the energies that drive it.

Consequently, my ambition for dream creation is one of rediscovering prehistoric cognitive development that would have spared the planet earth of its current contamination and pollution that materialist have inflicted it with had not the movement of the galaxy placed it into its present cosmic frequencies which triggered ecological and physiognomy changes on the earth.

During my awaken hours, the dream that fascinates me fills me with pleasant thoughts when my thought may be contrary to feeling at ease. I smile to myself knowing that I have a friend dwelling in the misty twilight who cares about me.

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Nothing At All

Recent Posts / Herbert Hilliard

This is the beginning, this is the end, of nothing at all. Nothing at all has no conclusion and no starting point. When the glass is broken, it is not fit to drink from, and the walls come tumbling down only to crush a lame duck. True to form, something cannot be produced by nothing at all, despite the big bang conjectures, and a wheel rolling down a hill is not destined to crash into a tree, even if the tree is directly in the wheels path.

This is the end, this is the beginning, of an array of possibilities leading fast-forwards into nothing at all like an explosion at the other end of the cosmos that is not heard. The truth is explained away in face of its evidence like a lie taking pride and refusing to go away. Pools of pristine waters rendered unfit to drink, and foods manufactured that have the elegant taste of plastic and cardboard with a little salt and pepper added for flavoring.

Nothing at all knocked on a restless person’s door and when the restless person opened the door there was nothing at all. Life is an illusion manifested by a wayward photon that has no purpose other than to bounce against a careless neutron, creating nothing from ten minus the power of nothing at all. Therefore, the elevated think that the universe revolves around them and every word they utter has a tremendous impact on everyone and everything. The dust do not know the elevated name, nor their shape or form and a broken tree branch does not call out to them as it falls.

Everyone hopes for the worst for the other person, feeling confident that they will be swept away to safety when nothing at all that exists calls them from the air. Mark my words because my words mean absolutely nothing at all in the vibrational frequences of this phenomenon we refer to as existence. The headstone has nothing at all to say about anything, just as a phantom will not go around ghosting someone other than what that person conjures up in their mind.

A dune beetle came up with the concept of the wheel and an anthropodenial copied the idea and called it its invention. Volcanos broadcasted the power of steam, and the brute figured out ways to harness it. Anthropomorphism is the current social trend as males and females are being redefined, and as a result diseases are proliferate with this type of thinking and behavior.

The wind blew northeast, but not because of climate change but because it interacted with other streams of air that pushed it in a northeast direction. The simplest explanation is sometimes the best, especially if the goal of a universal nothing at all is your quest.

Look to the branch that brakes away from the tree and consider how it accepts its fate without compromising nor complaint. Perhaps the consciousness of nothing at all is dreaming and it is all make-believe even of itself. When will the unknown be known; if ever, and a blade of grass will again be eaten by the cow that is not forced to consume chemical mixtures of whatever and everything.

If it ever should arise, the beginning and the end will collide and out of the collision nothing at all will be consumed, producing nothing at all in its wake. Thank goodness.

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The Echo

Recent Posts / Herbert Hilliard

The echo in the garden is not from my voice, so where is it coming from and who is producing it? It is a sound that I have not heard before, yet it is so familiar that I feel as if I intimately know it. Knowing a sound that I have not heard before as an echo that surrounds me is what I sense without understanding the significance of my exposure.

The echo in the garden is so soothing and relaxing. It makes me want to bathe myself in it, washing away all my concerns, at least for the moment, at least for the day. I look but I do not see what my ears perceive. The echo in the garden is closer than touching me. The echo in the garden is an intricate part of me. The best part of me that I do not see. Revealing the hidden that I push away from myself and the shadows that creeps behind me.

Leaves are fluttering in the trees being moved by the echo in the garden that is stirring the air. Air that is as clean and as fresh as a star bursting into light nourishing the orbs revolving around it. The echo in the garden speaks to me in a language that can only be translated by the galactic vapors.

Every galaxy has its own ubiquitous vapors that communicates with the untouchable but only when the outsider wants to be touched. Therefore, I submit to the echo in the garden and listen carefully to the vaporous translations.

In the remote past of a half a second ago, the echo in the garden filled me with anxiety of the trepidation of the unknown before soothing and relaxing me as never before. The unknown is still unspecified and mysterious, but the cuddling by the echo in the garden has made me fearless. Fearless of things to come and things that can not be undone.

As time ravages the mind, the feet are closer to the door that is held open by the frost with a bitter bite. However, the galactic vapors have informed me that there are no such creatures as never before and forever.

The garden is as quiet as not an animal stirring, as every being is attentive to the echo in the garden. Every being listening to the touch of understanding, comprehending the sensations of completeness. By the time there comes a time, everything will know that the supernatural means nothing to the colors of the universe and that the echo in the garden is as normal as a bump in the dark.

The garden is as serene as a hiccup without a burp, and the shadows in the forest has a compelling friendliness about them that compliments the echo.

One ecstasy at a time so as not to avalanche the mind with an overabundance of cosmic vapors. Uncontrolled thoughts and sensations that falls onto a fast-moving lizard and taken to a place where dreams can’t escape. Not of my voice is the echo in the garden and it comes from everywhere and from everything.

I want to coat my very essence with the echo in the garden and live my life within its embrace, and because there is not an always nor a forever, I live. I live as an element of the echo in the garden with the vapors of the Milky Way galaxy educating me.

The Milky Way galaxy educating me about life after life, and the sensibility of placing one foot before and behind the other.

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Author name: Herbert Hilliard

Broken Sparrow

The Search

What is life without dreams

Nothing At All

The Echo