Wicked Land

A Series of Dream Vignettes

By Bullion Grey
Copyright 2005-2009 D.Lantzsch
A Self-Awakening Publication

Qube

The House

My Fur Pajamas

Someone To Loom Over Me

The Jump

Walking in a Letter

The Square Like No Other

Menace

Dead Rock

Somewhere Not oft’ Passed

Wicked Land

Qube

Qube floated down that silent stream riding on a green leaf. Dahlia was blossoming
and had the air of graceful warmth as was a symbol of what it meant to be female.

But no one knew where the Mole was digging it’s deeper and deeper hole. No one
cared to find out what the mole knew, or didn’t know. The mole carried about it’s
daily dig, in pursuit of nursing morsels of Life.

A fern grew by the fountain’s edge appearing as a one plant a garden someone
intends to love. To say that it sits hedging it’s life, one leg in one world, the
other leg in another world mythologized it. It is the fern that grows between two
worlds.

A white dove touches down on the center mantle of the fountain, sipping softly,
clear, cool, water. Slowly it looks around to see this Aquarian conspiracy. Seeing
that harvest has long been passed , and now leisure time at last, this it would be
good, we would say, if this were our own day.

Beautiful music, harmonized about, without visual view, crowds of good traditions
sought after for luck’s firefly. Color in lines and sound mature as more of the
melody is heard, allowing for a construct so beautiful, yet so peacefully loving,
certainly I could live here forever.

A wagon pulls up on the other side, is the symbol of the man who’ll take me on my
ride. I reluctantly stand and head towards the steps. All of a sudden I notice
above the darkest sky, and temperatures dropped, I can see my sighs. The man he
whistles and whips horses - jostles to start, soon on his journey.
As I open my eyes, my cat is in the window, staring outside, and its five in the
morning….and my dream becomes a memory.
Fin

“During the night, when the conscious mind is asleep,

the heart is able to tell the story.”
---Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee

The House

The house was old and tired, horizontal graying slats of wood, some pieces had
fallen down…..in this house’s dreamscape. It was quiet, but with a low hum of
wind from somewhere while surveying this image of solitude.

As if I was searching for, something that could not be found, I began walking
carefully step by step towards the old tired graying slats of this wooden home. At
the moment of one breath’s time, I was standing on the welcome mat outside the
front door. As if multiple meanings were now present for interpretation, as the
door slowly opened to a darkened inside world…. were these new insights? Old
emotions? Or some kind of dark Cathedral of thought?

The interpretation was open to my imagination, which created the situation in the
first place. And now, I found myself feeling used by my imagination, as much I
used my imagination! This was quite surprising yet, I thought it must have been
inevitable at some time. For imagination, I’ve known for quite some time, is a
learning entity, a faculty of perception not simply a built in fantasy machine.

As unknown possibilities, the Jasmine smell of anticipation in the air, as I

entered the home. The smell of warm cookies with chips of chocolate in the
kitchens stove, it seemed. I could hear laughing of an older lady. In the
background, perhaps she was in one from the old days. And I could hear faint music
coming from somewhere. Playing an old thirties tune, on what sounded like a
phonograph. As I walked through the living room, I realized its appointment was
winter. It was white walled with a cool blue ceiling and all the furniture around
looked like, made of snow. The carpeting was all white, and even the stones around
the fireplace were beautiful bright white. I saw my breath, so cool was this
strange home. As I stood there behind the white couch, looking at the Winter
living room, I turned to my right and felt called to some beautiful light, which
was emanating in an uncertain pattern from down the hall. As I walked down the
hall the light became brighter and friendlier, and I could see that it was light
that was like the reflection of water, when light hits it in the morning -
through the sunshine.

I turned and looked inside the room, where light came from. So bright, So fair,
and all from the room.

It was clear I could see the room was fall, and it was covered with leaves.
Beautiful orange and red and Brown, incredible arrays of fades and combinations.
There was hardly no furniture, but logs, old trees, laying on their side, waiting
for some passerby to rest their weary legs, as they pause in the room of fall. The
soft winds spin through the center of the room the leaves all came up from the
floor and around, and around and around they went, it made me laugh it was fun,
time well spent. The Fall room left me feeling free.

I was excited by this point of what was ahead to see, the rest of the house before
the end of the dream. So I walked through a door to find myself in the freshest
times, standing in the middle of spring time. It’s hard to explain the smells in
the luster, the aliveness, the living sanctity, the wholeness.

Yes it’s the spring room and I don’t need an umbrella. I’m witness, can see
anyone clearly here, to a House of Seasons, the seasons of abode. It’s enjoyable
because you can go to any room you wish, at a moments notice - I think to myself
’I haven’t seen the room of summer.’ And so I noticed one door I had yet to walk
through. I opened it and slowly step into the room I realize that my afternoon TV
show is over, and I have a crick in my neck from sleeping crooked on my couch.
Fin
“No image aims at or points to itself.
It rather points to the object of which it is the image.”
---Meister Eckhart

My Fur Pajamas

Maybe abstracted from some Source I’m not able to know completely, but….. I was
within a field, walking slow, in the twilight of the day when the night becomes,
and day leaves without a sound. Not a rebel, nor a man, but be some furry
creature, that moves stealthily about, while searching for food amidst a sea of
night. The expedition of nocturnal survival, moving beneath nighttime clouds. No
plans nor knowledge nor need of accomplishment, just living - just living, just…
living. I admire my fur pajamas, which I always wear, and I feel so powerful,
with each step. I may be of the abstracted, not exist, but only here, that itself
is an existence. As I walk farther across dark forest floor, farther away, panning
up to the sky, awakening with the sunshine in my cats eye.
Fin

“Those who lose dreaming are lost.”

- Australian Aboriginal proverb

Someone To Loom Over Me

I’m dreaming in deep of night, nothing in particular of course, just dreaming.

Ever so quietly I hear words being spoken to me. At first I can’t make out what’s
being said. It’s a man’s voice calmly reading it seems.

But I’m dreaming and, I’m so tired, that I resist conscious examination of this
man’s voice calmly reading to me. But the reading goes on interrupting my dreaming
so intrusively, I’m finally forced to draw out of my deep slumber. As the voice
gets louder, I start to recognize the words. These words are mine. I have written
these words many years ago.

And now I’m starting to become conscious, I know this because I’m beginning to
realize that I’ am laying in my bed, next to my wife, who is fast asleep.

What is this shadow I see against the wall?

It is the shadow of a man sitting on a chair, in a chair next to me…next to me
sleeping in my bed! Now I realize as I awaken, that there is a man sitting in a
chair reading my last published book, out loud, but I don’t realize this in the
full sense.

It is a partial outline of a strange event, so strange that it shocks me into

action. I spring from my bed in stoned surprise, believing that perhaps his next
move will be to kill me or my wife or both of us. So I lunge towards his neck. In
one complete movement, we crash against the bedroom wall breaking the wooden
chair. As we, in slow motion move towards the corner of the room, I am looking at
his face close-up. I realize just as we hit the floor this man is our priest at
church!!

Stunned - my emotions as well as my complete consciousness, masticated. I

jumped backwards up to my feet. My wife turns on the light and screams “what’s
going on?” she looks to the corner of the room on the floor, and screems in
horror. I pick up the phone which’s lays on the floor beeping, and dial 911.

The police arrive with detectives, one of them pulls me aside. Interviews me as to
what took place, I explain in detail over and over the actual event, tragedy,
horror. The detective is incredulous, I can tell from his eyes he seems some what
doubtful as to what I’m telling him. But I’m telling the actual strange truth.
Other officers are taking pictures in the bedroom from different angles.
Flashbulbs going off, mumbling in the background.

An officer walks up to the detective, whispers something in his ear and hands him
a key. This key turns out to be my apartment key, but it was found on the dead
priest in my bedroom.

I can see outside the open front door from our second level deck, the sun is
rising over the city, it will be a somewhat cloudy today. But for me it is a day
without description, without understanding. Because this is the day after I
discovered my priest reading my book to me making critical comments and jokes at
4:30 a.m. in my bedroom, to me while I slept. Later it’s discovered that he has
been doing this for some time. Apparently he made a copy of our apartment key
months ago. Over many months, had been entering our apartment - while we were
asleep, and apparently walking around our apartment in the dark. For some strange,
bizarre and yet unknown reason. Ends with him seated next to me, almost looming
over me as I slept, reading many passages from my book.

As the coroner comes to pick up the priest‘s body, and slowly each detective and
officer leaves my apartment, another priest knocks on my door. He asked If I’m OK
and offers to pray for me. “I’ am quite fine thank you” and I close the door on
him. I’m going to take this day off.
Fin
I think dreams come from the universe.

--Matthew Fox

The Jump

I hear running water…..a streamlet, or brook I must be near. I hear the soft
rushing of the waters escaping downward to some other place I cannot see.
I see a man standing on the top of a mountain above the village below. As he stood
up there, a fly menaced his eye, his sweat staying just above his brow, enough to
irritate his view of where he was going now.

For a moment the white clouds misting in the blue sky, clouds of translucence,
pass by without sound. The mountains stood as witnesses in the distance. The trees
silent - almost as if they were sad, sad to see an old friend leaving. They almost
talked, almost, the trees to him. Their communication so powerful, nonverbal, it
was the rustling of branches and pine needles. He walked closer to the edge, with
his toes hanging over. His hands gripped into fists, sweating now as well.

The people seemed like small tiny shadows of humans, people who didn’t quite
exist. The tiny horses and carriages looked like small toys he could play with, if
only they were toys. If only the entire village was just make believe, a place
that he had constructed in his own mind.

Then just as the wind stopped blowing, as if on cue, he stepped off the cliff,
hurling himself towards the Earth at an unknown speed. He landed on the steeple of
the church. People run toward the church to see what happened.

I hear running water, and see next to the church is a small stream, a small
crystal clear liquid chandelier, rushing somewhere of unheard of destination.

Fin

“The whole universe originated in the dream”

--Buddhist traditional thought

Walking in a Letter
I found myself walking in a letter, written by an ancient, that spoke of the sky
full of birds; loudly flapping in unison, hundreds if not thousands, slipping
across the sky, together.

As I looked down I could see a strange brown sarcophagus in the weeds. I dust
away the dirt, I see a lock that has rusted so much, that when I pull on it, it
breaks into brown dusty fragments in my hand. I opened the latch and now I pulled
open the flimsy metal door. Inside I find cobwebs and a startling view, a Mummy.
The Mummy is holding a bottle of champagne, and it is also covered with ages of
dust.

As I grab the bottle of champagne from the mummy’s grip, the hands and arms break
apart, releasing a pungent melodious odor. In fascination in the past, the deep
past, I hold the champagne bottle in one hand as I stare at the mummy.

As I look closer I can see the emblem of a dragon on the fore head of the mummy.
As I dust it off I realize it is thinly layered with gold. Trying to grasp at it,
to pick at it, to pull it from the wrapping of the Mummies head.

At that moment the mummies eyes open, lids separating the bandages just enough so
I can see the jeweled beautiful eyes of this past person. It lays there as I am
very scared and jump back, but it doesn’t move. I then begin to peal off the tiny
and slight emblem of the golden dragon off the mummies forehead. I strangely eat
it as soon as I get it off. I don’t know or understand why, just wanted to eat
this golden object of antiquity.
Fin

“Dreaming like rivers we meet in the sea.

There the waters all know us and we know
where the sea does not end.”

--Russell Salamon

The Square Like No Other

I see a square, a square like no other Square I have ever seen. The Square has an
outline of blue, with the radiance of yellow from the outer edges. Within the
squares there’s nothing but white, and more white. And then I see as if it is a
movie screen, the square becomes vertical. I hear the crackling of celluloid,
slipping through projector and I can tell the black-and-white image of the film is
about to begin. Within the Square I see many images of people in cities in years
gone by, cars passing by. I see close-ups of daisies growing in the middle of
intersections, where busy cars pass. I see blackness with tiny stars glimmering in
the distance. Within the square and only within the square I feel a great
resonance of hope. the square is blue line turns darker blue as it disappears.
Fin

Dream time is a return to the cosmic soup of all potential

the embodiment of silence so that we can regenerate heal and bring forth
magnificent ecstatic awakening in a
new expression of the light energy we call life.

---Connie Kaplan

Menace

I’m running from this menace after me, a man who is a menace to me. He chases me
out of his old wooden home. Down a pathway I run…feeling like I’m escaping. Then
as I turn in the pathway I see and abandoned old woodshed; it appears abandoned to
me anyway. He is far enough behind me that I know he won’t see me slip into this
shed….I turned quickly to hide inside, only to discover in horror other people
hiding inside in terror. I can hear the locking the door on the outside, the
menace that just was chasing me, just arriving to lock me in. I have run into his
cage where he keeps his victims. I am in horror.
Fin

“The whole universe originated in the dream”

--Buddhist traditional thought

Dead Rock

I’m sitting in my oasis, one that I’ve had for longtime. I’m in subtle solitude,
yet not lonely. I enjoy the green lushness of my desert oasis. As I lay there
thinking about nothing particularly at all, I notice that the edges of my oasis
are starting to turn the color of the sand, in the distance. Slowly my oasis
begins to shrink and I find myself now standing in the middle of the mud puddle in
a giant desert with no people, nothing just sand. I jump up and in slow motion, as
I splashed down into the small mud puddle, somehow I slipped down through the
earth, sliding down through rock and sand, gravel, I come to a stop. I realize
moments later that I am entombed in my own bed rock, which is to say dead rock.

Fin

“The use of imagination is the use of the

highest of intelligence you have”

---- Brian Tracy

Somewhere Not oft’ Passed

With Bob Dylan playing on the radio “Tangled Up in Blue“, in an old place out in
the middle of desert I-55, found somewhere not often passed, he gets up and
scratches his ear as he walks to the soda machine to break open another Coke. The
sun is hot radiating, outside announcing its ability to burn, & just cool enough
in the shade to stand another day. The old gray-bearded man sits in his chair
waiting for the next stranger to come along in this out-of-the-way roadside
station, old highway, to buy a few gallons of gas. The last visitors were this
morning an older couple looking retired, churchly, on their way to some other
place. As he sits there sipping his cool soda, he gets lost in the memories. A
dust devil spins by throwing up sand and dust over the dry baked ground. Two crows
land on the Barbed wire fence next to him, as if checking in for the day, should
there be scraps hanging around the porch, or fresh flesh to peck. Overhead in the
blue skies, traced with white clouds running lengths of the horizon, in the
distance a tiny 747 works its way across the sky. He wonders if the people are
looking out the window if any can see where he is at.
Wicked Land

I’m walking along, it seems like night, I’m in a strange place that I have never
visited before. In the hazy darkness, I can see houses lined up along winding
streets. But these homes are different, they’re painted in strange patterns and
colors, in their architectural designs defy gravity as well as the laws of balance
and harmony. I’m struck by this and stare at them intensely. As I stare at each
house, walking along the street, in an abrupt moment I’m accompanied by a woman.

She’s slender and in a long dark
to be made of velvet. She’s tan,
close to her hairline on her for
Her nose is small and gentle, in
mouth just below her nose.
blue dress that stretches to her ankles. It seems
and her face is different. Her eyes are very
head, but they’re beautiful green, sparkly, deep.
the center of her face, along with her small

As we walk along I feel as if she’s a friend of some sort, may be from the past.
We chat as we walk. As we round the corner, I see on the side of the sidewalk, a
full-grown black cat giving birth to another full-grown black grayish cat. But I
see that the birth is not normal, as the birthing cat falls from the stomach of
the other cat straight to the ground and gets up.

I look to my companion who’s walking with me with some concern on my face. She
laughs and says “Yes, that cat gave birth“. Then without warning out of the corner
of one I see passing behind us what appears to be at first a man walking with a
cane, top hat, in black double-breasted coattail suit. But then I notice under the
hat it is a walking thumb. Walking regally with his cane, walking down the street
away from us. I am astonished. I have no words to say. Strange little furry
creatures dart about the street, some darting closely in the corner of my eye.

I ask where am I?
She tells me you are in Wicked Land.
I ask what is Wicked Land??
She told me it’s a place between life and the other side, where the unformed, yet
formed and deformed exist.
Then the unexpected….

The lady who accompanies me all of a sudden gets right in my face; with both hands
she holds me by my cheeks, just inches away from my nose, and says to me “Maybe
that’s why Gerhardt was the way he was, he never got to go to Wicked Land?”

At the moment I think to myself that it makes sense - as everything quickly

disappears, my eyes open and I am staring at my staccato ceiling, its 4:30 a.m.
and I’m wide awake.
Fin

The more conscious you become,

the more you will be able to have dreams worth having.

---Sri Aurobindo
I am Awakening
I am Awakening - I am beginning to understand
I see the green grass and the message is grow
I feel the warmth of the morning sun
- the message is I love you warmly
The ocean waves whisper to me - persist
The wind teaches me there are powerful unseen forces
The rocks show me to be unmovable in my purpose
The birds call to me fly!
My soul stirs my slumbering senses - and I am Awakening
I am beginning to understand

Dreams hint of other dimensions