The Master of our Dreams

Memories seem to be intertwined with dreams. Dreams seem to live in themselves. They pay not a lot of heed, to the dreamer of them. So is the dreamer of the dream, a slave to the dream? Or suspiciously, is he in command of his dream? Does sleep make him susceptible to outside influences? So when there is sleep, are we at risk? And is sleep an example of a daily death? And if sleep is death then does it mean that death itself can conquer us and control us, acting upon our memories. And is death the greatest victory for the master of our dreams?

A Spade

A spade is most certainly a spade, although there could be something up its sleeve. Don't have an Ostrich type heart. Put it on display, nurture it, and project. Prepare to meet all of your desires. Both truth and fiction are part of the whole. Nothing should be remarkable. Everything should be accepted. Nothing is strange. Everything has a place in reality. Be with and stay with yourself. The blame cannot be all yours. The praise cannot be all yours either. And the blame cannot obviously be all theirs as the praise shouldn't be awarded to them exclusively.