What kind of oven bakes such astonishing dreams almost every night?
Bright characters, wild motion, sudden turns in the plot. And the hidden meaning scattered through them like gems at the ocean's floor, waiting for their time.
On one hand, dreams are made by someone—anyone—but not me. Someone hauls the wood, lights the fire, kneads the dough, and watches the crust turn golden. I only manage to catch the pies as they fly out, hot from the heat.
On the other hand, dreams belong only to me, and only my body can extract and digest the “nutritional value” hidden inside. For someone else, they are nonsense. For me, they are a stream of insight.
Dreams have much in common with creativity. The same double nature of “me-not me,” “mine-not mine.” The same independence of the Process from our will.
Yet beyond the gate, someone's expecting us to contribute. Our effort, our thought, our questions, our patience, our attention. And above all, our readiness to catch the falling fruit in our hands.
True co-creation—even if in the Work we're the junior hand.
Yours sincerely,
-Alexander
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