Furies

I recall a dream I had when I was very, very young, I think I was maybe five or six years old. Voluntarily I allowed myself to be locked up tight into a steel box just barely big enough for me. This box had no window, holes for air, light, or sound to penetrate, it had no padding, I entered it with a full expectation I would lose my mind while in it.
This dream was intensely lucid and I remember that I did lose my mind while in that box. I remember it felt as if I were two people, one was going through the experience while the other was taking notes. When I awoke the next morning I was so tired and worn out that I scared my folks so much that they kept me home for the day.
Now I know that this dream was just a dream, but when I listened to {I}’s Furies post, I couldn’t help but consider what terrible intensity lurks in the dark recesses of our frail human condition.

In response to a poem and a friend.

Like Plato’s Cave, we see,

On a small wall lit by light of cheap reflections,

Shadows.

Setting reflections free in our imagined dream,

We make this shadow world live,

In Rich, Bright, and Brilliant,

Colors.

Living is color and light there is no dark night

A person is thrilled to experience,

By dreams and aspirations.

A leap of Faith?

Perhaps jumping in,

Faithfully thrilled to experience.

Are you experienced?