Skydreams

​Dreams come from the sky. However wide we can expand our vision is how vast and breath-taking our dreams can be. Because the sky is endless. It’s the potion of the Divine. We humans are the alchemists, whether we know it and embody it or not.
 
As the magicians we are, we draw these Skydreams through our minds, where we sift and filter and sort until we see a vision we love. The potential of a dream is limited only by the openness of the mind. Cynicism, cleverness, over-education, and arrogance are the mental bars of many a human head. Those who think they are smart and belittle those of us who see visions and breathe life into them, seem to be the least able to create of us all. I’ll not mince my words here, because we’re at a temporal crossroads. Either we are going to make inspiring miracles appear in our world and impact it, or we're not and we make ourselves irrelevant. However beautiful or ugly our seed ideas and intentions, if they never reach fruition in the material plane, their energy and light remain un-embodied here on Earth.

Skydreams coming to life.

Winter flirts with spring up here on my hill right now. The primroses prick through the dirt along the verges; their sweet aroma is a gift to me in the twilight hours. Clouds cluster and percolate above the crowns of the mountains, their shadows falling onto random pastures like the footprints of the Gods. Earth is so powerful now, so beautiful and alive. She is poised, potency rippling under her grassy skin, as she gathers her unstoppable life force, ready to pump it through the dirt with such force that even tractors and strimmers and mowers will be beaten into submission.
 
I stare at this incredible place and the dreams that are blooming here. I see my barn taking shape, walls being rebuilt and repaired, window frames and shutters and more. I am managing it despite the slag heaps of doubt that tried so hard to block my vision. I watch the limitations of my old mind fall away in the face of what has already been brought to life, mental impediments inflicted by the stunted outlook of the media, the caged cleverness of the academics, and the mediocrity of the herd vision. The veiled slights, prejudices and judgements of my fellow humans are all losing their grip now.
 
“You're building very square these days, aren't you?” Said someone not so long ago. Another remark to grapple with. I’ll return to it in a couple of paragraphs. In the meantime, as I stare at the ridged beauty of the sierra and the improbable miracle of its very existence, the grilles tumble from my eyes. The Skydreams I’m now privy to leave me breathless.
 
Earth is power. The sky is infinite. And we are unstoppable (if we dare to be).

Power is rippling under the surface.

Farmer Quilo says my barn is probably 200 years old. May be 150, but could well be two centuries. How I admire that old forgotten outbuilding! Like so many of us as we age, it has been ignored, laughed at, and deemed useless. I feel as though it waited there years with its nobbles and wobbles and ruts and cracks, for someone who saw Skydreams to arrive. But its a big job even for a Dirt Witch, and I'm continually catching my breath, hanging onto the hand rails of my to-do list, climbing it rung by rung. Don't look down. Don't look down.

In many ways the immensity of the task in front of me is, to the conditioned mind, an impossibility. Happily I rarely listen to that idiot, because frankly it hasn’t got a clue. What does the conditioned brain know about creation? What does it understand about how things blossom and grow in this world? Nada.
 
The great wilderness of our minds has been turned into a tightly manicured urban garden. It has tidy verges, a lifeless lawn, and cares what the neighbours think. I’ve spent the past twenty years digging up that mental lawn. I’ve rewilded my head to the extent that I rarely see the limits and obstacles other people do. A fair bit of that rewilding happened in Turkey, where many people simply can’t afford not to take a chance or give themselves over to defeatism.
 
I often wonder why I was called back to the West just as it looks on the edge of collapse. But it’s becoming clearer and clearer to me the more time I spend with Westerners; their minds are the ones locked down far more than their bodies. The overthinkers. They are everywhere. Hampered and controlled by fears of improbable disaster, and an education that says you can plan for everything, which is so obviously ludicrous now it hurts.

Nothing happens if you’re too chicken. Unless of course you are a chicken, and then many things happen.

How things happen
I wrote an article a couple of years ago on making dreams happen, so I won’t repeat what I said there. But let me just say this: Nothing happens because you planned it down to the last detail. Nothing happens because you just sat and thought about it (and no doubt bored your friends to tears about it too). Nothing happens because you watched YouTube for three hours, or spent all day trying to change someone’s mind on Facebook. Nothing happens because you made 241 contingency plans. Nothing happens if you’re too chicken to jump, if you have no faith in yourself and life.
 
The thing is though, our old reality has fractured. There are holes and rips all over the place. Now is the very time to make something happen, so it might pay to remember how.
 
For a dream to appear in the physical world it has to move from the sky of possibilities into our heads. But then it has to move on. It shifts from our heads to our hearts, where we find the joy and verve to act on it. Our emotions breathe life into our visions and dictate the very flavour of their being. This is what enthusiasm is all about. Thus the dream moves from our hearts to our fingers and our feet, and into the Earth herself. Sky, head, heart, body, earth. Miss any of these steps and the dream aborts, or is stillborn, or just rots in your head.
 
But that’s not all.
 
Once the dream meets the earth, then a conversation has to take place. It’s a dance. A relationship. The sky doesn’t stamp its vision onto the ground like some bureaucrat validating a scrap of paper, or a printer etching words on a blank piece of paper. The tabula rasa idea should have disintegrated a hundred years ago, but somehow it still survives, rolling around the conduits of the human brain like a lost ball bearing.
 
So you see, this is why my barn is not a copy of my roundhouse. This is why the windows aren’t circles, and things look a little rectangular. Because this piece of land isn’t Mud Mountain. It has its own character, energy, spirits, and geology, and I’m listening to them all. I’m not here to simply copy and paste one house onto another, or stamp one old vision onto this beautiful new landscape, as though it had no vision or desire of its own. Sorry if that’s what you thought would happen and are disappointed, or think I’ve sold out to the square or something.

Have I sold out to the square?

Nature doesn’t do repeats. And neither do I. Repetition and copying are part of the machine world, not the sacred act of creation. I’m simply doing what we’re all here to do: taking Skydreams into my mind, heart, and body, and breathing life into them. Then I offer them to the dirt, and work with her to bring them forth here on planet Earth.

It's time
There are a lot of brand new Skydreams available to us right now, and there’s a shedload of power pumping through the planet too. If you haven’t already, I’d urge you to step into it. True, being active doesn’t necessarily mean we’re doing anything useful if its mindless busyness disconnected from inspiration. But timing is everything. It’s not the time to just sit on inspired dreams anymore. It’s the time to embody them. Bring your precious light into the world. Don't think your idea is too small to matter, because everything matters. Every square inch of this planet is sentient, stuffed full of millions of beings. For the tiniest and in many ways most fundamental lifeforms, a compost heap, a pool, an old log, or a tree can be an entire world. Know your value. Know your power. Use it.

This barn coming down from the skies of my mind and into the physical world.

The Armchair Philosophers
We've been suffering under the unearthed theories of elitist armchair philosophers for too long. They're the very reason we're at the place we are now, floating as they do a convenient metre or so above the ground of action. They believe they do the important job of thinking, while some other pleb struggles with the dirty work of trying to bring the grand idea into the world, and then receives zero credit for it. It's a typically colonial mindset, actually. Wisdom doesn't come from simply thinking. It is born out of this incredible alchemical practice, where a human brings a dream from heaven down to earth. I can always tell who has actually tried to realize their dreams (whether they succeed or fail is irrelevant), and who is simply waffling, because true wisdom can only ever sprout from the dirt. All the rest is disembodied cleverness. It's a train on a circular track, going absolutely nowhere. Impotent. Divorced from physical reality. Unable to affect anything.
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