How you see yourself in your mind depends on how you relate to a vision that goes far beyond what you can see.
I was at my desk, immersed in an obscure silence that was looking for rest. I wasn’t looking around, I didn’t seem to be interested in anything anymore. I worked late into the night, until the sound of the cold winter wind penetrated the room, everything took on another dimension, that of a stirring dream in which I seemed to be searching for a missing person, myself becoming captive in a time of not forgetting from a Renascimento Contínuo . And if I were to put my thoughts on paper, to collect my ideas as simple fantasies, a process of contact with my own self, with my attitudes, with my thoughts, with my emotions, this was mainly due to the simulation of a reality that expressed my own creative forces through the prism of the way I related to the universe of my imagination.
And I fell asleep completely, with my eyes fixed on the shooting stars of the words full of metaphors that illuminated my soul in a time of unparalleled mysteries, thinking of what I was writing in a notebook full of thoughts that always makes room for other thoughts.
They were words detached of form and refined terms, spoken through repeated thoughts, but immortalized in a drawing of the heart enlarged to the scale of the entire solar system and transformed into a symbol of eternity, Sanctrisya Ophorum , denoting an incursion into universal memory. Just like this, rummaging through the chaos of movements in a virtual, four-dimensional space, so small that gravity overwhelms everything, beyond which multiple abstract forms of reflection can be glimpsed, my inner life seemed to become more and more accessible, because I had finally found a place in which to retire, a place from where the “Journey of the Word” germinates.
Leadership: Can you perform a gaze reversal quest and bring the outside in without usurping the sovereignty of the inside?
It never happened to me to go so far with my thoughts. It was as if I had crossed an invisible barrier, a demarcation line proposed by a time of returns to myself, always postponed, beyond which I could hardly find the way to what I thought could be a refuge, a way to detach myself from the environment, from any material dimension.
Of course, it was possible to simply wait, to disintegrate the images and messages of the part of my brain responsible for interpreting waves of sound and light, hesitant and intense, like those in a disturbing film where changing frames creates an optical illusion. But that would have meant usurping my inner sovereignty, canceling my reason to exist simultaneously in two parallel worlds.
To understand the universe, or how things are in the endless dream world, you must demonstrate that there is a reality independent of the constructions of the theoretical physicist, or independent of the analytical thinking of the genuine mathematician. It is about a reality of consciousness or of the soul in which the dream is nothing but an event that was or will be manifested, an illusion of three-dimensionality coming from another place, causing a kind of paramnesia: “an illusion of memory in which the past and the present appear mixed up, the real and the imaginary become confused. The subject has difficulty locating a memory precisely in time, or believes he recognizes a situation, place, object, or person that are, in reality, unknown.”
Leadership: Can you create a memory-image after describing a vision model that transforms reality into a dream, according to the determination of a figurative context capable of signifying your interiority?
Of course, the usurpation of inner sovereignty is a form of manifestation of a distorted, exaggerated perception of oneself in a reality that is mistaken for a dream. In other words, you become someone other than who you really are, increasing the distance between what you see with your eyes and what you draw in your imagination.
A ray of light entered my heart and pierced my brain at the crossing of the border between two transparent environments, manifesting itself by changing the direction of propagation of a single wave of regret: “I’ve experienced everything I wrote, but I wrote nothing from the story of my dream”. After all, this too is a kind of gaze reversal technique, an extension from the posterior poles of the eyes to the cerebral cortex, allowing a mirage of the unconventional, more or less conscious, to manifest itself as a representation of what is hidden from view, in an underground beyond the limits of the brain .
Is it not so? An unforgettable dream is realized by resorting to a world of the miraculous. And I didn’t know if what my vision was showing me, somehow blurring the past and the present, was just a hallucination, a vision obstructed by the canvas of a black-and-white design painting, into which I had unwillingly integrated. Or, maybe I was just part of an image whose distance cannot be seen, because in the horizon of my words lies eternity that only the reader must glimpse. The meaning of this aspect continues to elude me, remaining a kind of enigma of mystical destiny, suspended in an Arabic note at the end of a book in which are reflected, as in an inverted mirror, the instant views of a personalized content profile.
Leadership: Can you determine the length of an internalized reality that gives verisimilitude to an image from which one derives the coherence of a Self that transcends time and space?
A small bit of history can be born from some words proposed by a vision beyond time, inside a dream that found its dreamer in a present that only wants to be eternalized, gathering all the previous experiences in one place, as in a perpetual synchrony. Everything seemed closely related to the fantasies that my words, alone, oriented to reflection, written and collected in the universal memory, could only convey as the language of a ravaged mind struggling to put a little order in its inner life.
I fell asleep with my glasses on, a fact that became a scene of rejection of the imbalance between reality and illusion, and I woke up with blurred vision. What could it be? Everything was happening as if I had sunk into an impenetrable darkness that was lit only by the light of the Godhead. It seemed that I was walking through an endless subterranean labyrinth, without a lantern, just to find out the turns of the depths where I had to grasp.
What was seen could have been different…
One thing is certain: I will never be able to remember the reality of the dream, without coming out of the reality that kept me prisoner in that dream, thus showing how I see things inside me. And even if I am not ready to draw a conclusion now, making words out of different thoughts, clinging to a semblance of objectivity, I will try to look at everything as if I expected to fall asleep again, and in a dream see myself again working in the office, considering that everything is just a pure coincidence.
Thus, I realized that reality is the mirror of an illusion that repeats itself after a while, in another form. Myself being only in search of a spiritual refuge that offers “from the outside” a world that I lack…
To determine the length of an internalized reality is to show how you see things within yourself, as long as the vision that forms a memory-image travels the optical path of a previously lived life or in a thousand such lives.
A Representation Of What Is Hidden From View is reproduced in an image of the self that is repeated in a multitude of other dreams, in turn followed by a Like and a Sigh: “what a shame I have to wake up to reality…”