The illustration (symbols:)
Inset, right bottom corner: an Arab mob – and its apparent stampede. The red line: trail from the Sinai peninsula; triumphal arch as Israel border post. The green hill: apparent oasis. The last Israeli soldiers clearing out. Inset of the sea: a destination.
Addendum:
Dreaming is like a pointing finger, and I’m out showing the mind amazing mechanics of dreaming. On a daily occurrence I’m dreaming and hunting down the phantasmagoric treasures of virtual realities, for the paradoxical reality. In doing so, I’m showing a telepathic touch of thought, like a detective on a crime scene, the enigma manifest itself often in the immediate environment. Dreams are foremost guardian to one’s survival, and one dream can carry more than one messages. the variants arises the complexity, for study even in an apparent simplistic unique object, such as running a relative series leading to another phase, like in astral projection picking up objects with a furthering in depth purpose.. One can learn from the living encyclopedia of experiences, and adapt a logic and vigilance interpretation to one’s proper experience. tentative, many aspects of a dream maps to a brooding sources – given the spell of a dream at questioning, one’s biological brain that interface wiring the mind. considering the levels of pollution, the swamp at least resembling the reality. as the interpretation depends on tapping in, borrowing a lucid mind of minds omnipresent unconsciousness (hibernating intelligence) in the cosmos. reading symbolism, strings and knots linking a network, for a DIY to understand before date stamp a dream, record an outline, and studious editing borrowing a lucid mind like the The TV series Unforgettable starring Poppy Montgomery as an ex-cop with hyperthymesia, and yes one needs to ruminating, bringing back the mind on site, with critical questioning mind, at discovering life in dead matter. tapping in, searching levels of clairvoyance, among the mind of minds of an omnipresent unconsciousness (hibernating intelligence) in the cosmos.
Here is the story
in the midst of the arid landscape that expands out of sight on all azimuths, I head north hurrying in my stride through the Sinai Peninsula, anxious at beating, I don’t know what though upcoming and wild a fierce herd stampede behind me. In fear for my life, I sneak along the desert landscape pressing my pace, searching distant terrains on the lookout for sings of border dissimulation. searching the desert for the Israeli border. Offside east, from the valley of a succession of land waves into the skyline obliterated in dust, when appears the green tip of a promising oasis. rising a rich green rolling hill against a flagrant sand contrast. In my stride I curve my path off east when the mobsters appear in the distance rising like a sand storm on the western horizon. my zigzagging way brings me approaching the foot of lawn smooth and green slopes, topped by a huge white stone roman triumphal archway, when a man running in civilian clothes appears off my right and crossing my way, his path curves behind me and runs into an all in arms revolting mob, to disappearing to a latent reappearance and last of the mob.
At the foot of the hill, I duck my head dissolving myself from the mob in a nearby bush, pretending to be busy. en-mass the Arabs mob storms by, to my surprise, the mob hadn’t slaughtered me, and my fears subside, though the danger only moved forward. in view of the emphatic arc rising against the sky, I climb the green hill, which the mob get around. two Israeli soldiers, instinctive to an artillery that had moved out, and they were the men clearing out. discarding me in my approach. The soldiers ignored me, and vanished, as I head through the arch. Coming around the left pillar to the rear, there were no sight in the valleys where the mob had vanished.
By my shortcut path, I caught up with the mob emerging from the flanks of the green hill, wild and animated as my initial sense of them, I watch in awe the first of the mob storm onto the beach and into the sea. en-mass with hands and feet they stir up the calm water to a white waters turbulence of birds wing splashing as the dark figures head deeper in the shallow waters rejoicing themselves, having conquered the land to the sea.
Out of the crowd a man walks away, tracking backs up to the foot of the green hill, where the old and last people were scattered in the evening shade of the arch, and says, “We have lost 50,000 men.” And like the soldiers, they were the last Israeli alive, crying, surrendering, to folks that weren’t soldiers.
Vitrine of Consciousness 