dream - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The bunsen burner was a burnished silver and far larger than any I'd ever seen before, the flame a brilliant blue and strong. I reached over to turn the base, to feed it with oxygen. At once the fire became golden and took the shape of a flower head. I watched the many petals became more distinct, folding outward, radiating light and warmth. It was quite the most beautiful flower I'd ever seen, more transitory than any other, yet eternal in my mind.
I dreamt of a coin, old and covered in dirt, the engravings worn and the head of the king so tarnished as to be stolen from view. I held it in my left hand, watching the mud dirty my skin. So close to my face the coin had the aroma of stale blood. I turned to my right hand and in the palm was a new spring leaf, crowned by a perfect sphere of dew, reflecting an image of my face, softened and relaxed. When I turned back to the coin, the image of the king had freed himself and journeyed over to the leaf, igniting the growth of strong roots and new foliage that reached for the sunlight, robust, virescent.
Frankie awoke, his dream as vivid as Saturday morning cartoons on the new plasma TV. He'd seen a newspaper, the print clear enough to read. "The emergence of divine consciousness can be measured by the smiles of children and how long those smiles continue into adulthood." Before breakfast he'd written it down on a used napkin and placed it in his right side pocket.
The bathroom was dark, dank even, and on the walls were three mirrors without frames. I approached to adjust my makeup but when my eyes rested on the glass I saw the face of a young Indian girl, soft with a gentle expression. I screamed and went back to look again. This time it was a Chinese man, older but still calm. Every time I looked it was a different person of any race, gender or age. My mind began to spark erratically, what if I began to see them all the time? What if they could step from the mirrors? A voice spoke, "Ask them what they need and they will tell you." I asked, but the answer is the one thing about the dream I cannot recall.
While I was asleep the other night I got the strange feeling that my bed was rocking. I woke up to find I was no longer in my bed, but in a boat on a gently swaying sea. There was no motor on the boat, no oars, nothing I could use to guide the boat that was drifting aimlessly. All of a sudden the boat ran aground on some island that was not there before. There was no reason to stay in the boat, so I went ashore.
I went inland a few yards and found people stumbling and wandering around. I watched them but no one seemed to see me. I had never seen these people before and I finally realized they were blind. I needed to find out where I was, so I went up to one of the people and asked him where I was. He turned towards me but did not say a word. He just stood there.
The stain had vanished like it was never there in the first place, like the whole thing had been a visual joke. Tyler ran his hands over the fabric before holding it up to the brilliant early morning sun. There was no trace of red, black or any other colour. It was as clean as the day it was created and just as supple, just as beautiful. What had been there yesterday was already fading from his memory, as if it wasn't just erased from the silk, but from history all together. It had been words he was sure, but now that they were gone he felt himself begin to relax. Casting his eyes around him at the trees, listening to the birds, he quite forgot the fabric for a moment. Then when recalled he was holding something he looked down to find only white petals, which he instinctively released into the breeze and watched them float away.
After so long in the maze Shelly was confused as to which path to take. She'd sat there all day, lost, figuring she'd never get out, when Jess just walked right through the walls. She sat and stared as he passed through the maize stems into the still sunlit path. He smiles and beaconed her to come. "Follow me," he said with one of his sheepish grins. Shelly wrapped her fingers into his loose cotton shirt, her heart flooded with relief. She could have walked through them herself she supposed, but it was wonderful to have a guide.
I had thought my jail cell as real for so long that I never even checked to see if the walls were solid. I heard screams from other cells and they paralyzed me from even pushing on the door. Then one spring day when the brilliant light of dawn shone in, I stood and put my hand on the bars. With a prayer I pushed with all my might and a after a brief flash of pain the prison cell itself was left behind me on a hill. From the outside it was tiny, pathetic. After so long crouched in the dark I stood up and let the light warm my skin, my black hair flowing in a heavenly wind. Upon the walls written in stone were the words "fear" and "guilt." I threw my head toward the sky with relief, all I had to do was conquer those bullies all along, conquer them and be free.
In the dream I am sitting in a field of green wheat, the stalks bend lazily in the wind and I marvel at the grains. Each one is distinct and though different from the others, still perfectly formed. I run my hand along the edge to feel the combination of rough and smooth and then hold my face upward to feel the warm light of the mid summer day. The air smells just right and the birds fly in an almost cloudless sky. I start walking, the filed goes on forever and after a while my feet become roots, digging into the soil. My hands become green, soon I am also wheat, and I wave happily in the wind.
In the dream the sky is blue, the birds sing and there is a bee on clover nearby. The streams run clear and there are fish in the river. Next to me is a small boy and he tells me how he sees the world. His answers to my questions are so precious. I ask him if we should care for the world. He says "Yes" like he's surprised I should even have to ask. I ask him if we should be nice to animals, his response is the same. I ask him if we should kill or harm animals and his eyes fill with tears. I ask him if humans should kill one another and he runs, runs like he just saw a monster. I call after him but he won't return. He's a child, and like all children he's still able to see through the light of the creator - he was never taught the answers, he feels them within.
Have you ever had a dream so real you were confused when you woke up? Once when I was a little girl I dreamt that the grass in our backyard was blue. The blue grass rose up into the sky leaving perfect green grass underneath and painted the sky the same perfect shade those soft blades had been. That morning I didn't wake up sleepily, but instead like a switch had been flicked. I ran from my bed to the back yard. And you know what? The grass was green and the sky was blue. I told everyone where the blue grass had gone, but since I was five there was no suggestion I was crazy, just knowing smiles and nods. No-one could tell me it wasn’t real, I’d “seen it” happen and outside was the proof. Seeing is believing right? I guess that’s why I’m so comfortable talking to you. I can see you here with me. You aren’t quite solid yet, I don’t think you can be for a while, don't ask me why yet because you won't like the answer.
The dream comes often and only the ending changes. Sometimes I win and sometimes I loose. If I loose it's because I betrayed of love and trust of someone I love more than myself. So long as I do what I know is right, the dream turns out well. I have woken up from the dream many times feeling wretched for my mistakes, only for the blessed relief to come that I didn't really do those things, it was just a dream. Then though my heart feels wretched at least I can face the day. When the dream turns out well I'm never elated, just cosy, happy to stay at home and potter. I don't fear the dream, even when it's bad I welcome the message it brings. Stay true to the ones who love you and the ones you love back.
In my dream there are lights, too many to count, dancing on an ocean too vast to envisage. Each one is brilliant, each one unique. I want to look at each one for the marvel it is, for no matter how many there are no two colours are the same. The light that comes from within is more pure than gold, more light than air - each one a small piece of heaven. I try to reach out to them, who wouldn't want to touch something so pure. But the lights recoil in fright, they don't even know who they are. They chant that they feel ugly on the outside and worse on the inside. I can't understand until I take a look at the water, it looks fine but smells like something I wouldn't want to drink. But they're swimming in it, bobbing in it like it's a fine day at the beach. I want to tell them it's poison but they'll never listen. They laugh and carry on just as before, each one just as beautiful as the last but disconnected even from their inner light and beauty.
I took about five running steps and leaped into the air. Assuming the pose of superman I flew over dales and rivers right to the coast and over the cliffs. Barely skimming the waves I headed into the horizon and the setting sun, then without warning I plunged into the ocean. I could breathe and I was as fast below the surface as I had been on top. The fish swam around me a myriad of colour, shapes and sizes. Then I met with a blue whale who told me of their sorrow in his sing song trills, which somehow made total sense, and sent me back to the land with a message to the creatures of the air.
In the centre of the park was a mirror, oval and standing seven feet tall. The surface was glossy and in the twilight it emitted an unearthly go. I moved toward it without walking or making any conscious decision to move. As I approached I could see that the surface rippled and the reflection was no reflection at all. I could not see myself or the trees around, instead there was just me staring back from a dark room, but I was in clothes I had never seen before and my eyes were wide and pleading. The image held out her hand, when I did not extend mine she drew closer, the pale hand came through the surface glistening with a gooey gel...
...Benjamin's hands were shaking and his voice quivered like a grass in the wind. "Martha, I had a dream. A most terrible dream. There was an angel and she told me to chose. To chose between being a master of hell or an equal shareholder in heaven. She said for the rich the time had come to choose which side of the line they stand on. Do you think it was just a dream?"
Dreams is where you have your own world.
There appear your desires living in fantasy, the 'you' whom you wanted to be, the things you despair to have. Everything you want to have.
And it's sad to think that the moment you open your eyes, everything's going to be lost again.
I wish my life were like a dream. A daydream. A dream, so magical, so unbelievable, so perfect. The perfect scheme so everything would turn out so wonderful. So our life was somewhere else, somewhere safe. Somewhere we lived in harmony with one another, and not in fear of what the next news story was about. Not another story on death, or rape, injury or sickness. Being able to live our lives like we are supposed to. How we want to. A world where children who are not even born yet, brought into this world, don't have to worry about cancer, or sickness or dying, or being shot, or scared of the world they are in - that is the life I wish for, but of course that is only my dream. A figment of my imagination that comes to me daily, my mind buzzing with bright coloured rainbow blotches - so full of grace and happiness.