It’s been more than fifty years since the night that started this whole train of thought, but the memory is as vivid as ever. I share it now not as a doctrine or a final answer, but as a set of possibilities — questions I’m still asking myself.
Back in the 1970s, I had a dream. Not just any dream, but
one so real, so textured, that even as I woke up I could hardly believe it
hadn’t actually happened. In the dream, I walked barefoot across a thick,
dark-green carpet. The fibers were deeper and softer than any I’d ever felt in
waking life. I ate a slice of birthday cake — tasted the sweetness, felt the
fork in my hand. I talked with people, even touched someone’s arm.
When I awoke, I knew with complete clarity that during the
dream I had not known it was a dream. I’d been fully immersed, with no
sense that there was any other reality. And then a thought came rushing in: if
that could happen in a dream, could my waking life be the same kind of thing?
Could it be that I am living inside a larger dream — one dreamed not by me
alone, but by the Divine Mind?
That question has lived with me ever since.
The Poem That Came From It
From that seed, words began to flow in the style of Walt
Whitman — not in rigid form, but in long lines and images. It came to me as a
kind of creation story, told not with absolutes but with wonder. I called it The
Primal Dream.
The Primal Dream
energy, thought, inseparable,
conceived the primal dream
substance gave it life
thus, physical existence was born
at first, hydrogen
clouds swirling, condensing growing warmer
warmer still, heat rising
fusion
birthing helium,
the heavier elements the same
ever so slowly, so slow
exploding, condensing
exploding, condensing
building blocks of stars and planets
enjoying a rhythmic dance
thought, the catalyst
energy of the universe
thoughts from the mind of God
perfection of knowing all
limited
limited by choice,
flowing from the center through stages
growth and learning
striving for perfection in corporeal reality
advancing, growing tired,
resting in the mind of God
cyclical
circular
the dance of life
God’s dance!
The Diagram
I’m a visual thinker, so after the poem, I tried to sketch
what I was seeing in my mind’s eye. The diagram was circular — not because I
think the universe is literally a two-dimensional disc, but because the circle
seemed to express cycles, return, and wholeness.
At the very center was a bright white point — the source,
the stillness before anything began. Around that point was a ring of deep blue,
symbolizing thought-energy in its pure potential form, unshaped and formless.
From the center, arrows radiated outward, marking the
impulse to create — the decision of the Infinite to dream. Each ring moving
outward from the center took on more color: violet, red, orange, yellow, green
— each representing a further stage of manifestation, from subtle to tangible.
Threading through the rings were branching green channels,
like lightning. I thought of these as shortcuts inward — moments of awakening,
inspiration, love, or deep spiritual insight that could pull us closer to the
center without having to retrace every step.
And floating outside the circle at the top was a yin-yang
symbol — the dance of opposites: light and dark, joy and sorrow, order and
chaos. It sat beyond the colored rings to suggest that the ultimate Source is
beyond duality, even though the dream-world we inhabit is full of it.
Why Dream at All?
I began to wonder: if God (or Source, or the Divine) is
already perfect, all-knowing, and eternal, why create anything at all?
Here’s one possible answer that came to me: perhaps
perfection, while beautiful, is also changeless. In such a state, there’s no
challenge, no discovery, no growth — because all is already complete. And
maybe, just maybe, the Infinite longed to experience something else — something
dynamic, unfolding, uncertain.
What if the Infinite chose to limit itself, to enter a realm
where things could go “wrong,” where love had to be learned, where the ending
wasn’t known from the inside? What if the point was to experience becoming, not
just being?
In this view, each of us could be a fragment of that
Infinite, exploring one thread of the grand dream, learning, stumbling,
growing, returning.
Life Inside the Dream
If that’s true — even in part — then maybe our lives start
with total immersion in the dream. We believe the role we’re playing is all we
are. We think the material world is the only reality.
Over time — whether in one lifetime or across many — we
begin to notice moments that don’t quite fit the script. Love that feels bigger
than self-interest. Insights that seem to come from nowhere. Dreams that wake
us up.
Could it be that these moments are the “green channels” in
my diagram — pathways that help us remember there’s more to the story?
The Cycles
In the diagram and the poem, the movement is cyclical:
- Out
from the center into manifestation
- Living,
learning, creating
- Returning
to the center for rest
- Going
out again
This suggests that nothing is wasted. Every joy and sorrow,
every triumph and failure, adds texture to the journey. Even rest in the center
isn’t permanent — it’s a pause before diving back into the dance.
Parallels in Science
Decades after my dream, I learned about the holographic
principle in physics — the idea that everything we experience in three
dimensions could be a projection from information stored on a two-dimensional
“surface” at the boundary of the universe.
I’m not saying my dream was about physics. But I couldn’t
ignore the resonance: the idea that what we call reality might be a kind of
projection, just as my diagram hinted at — a vivid, tangible dream arising from
something beyond it.
What If?
So here’s where I’m left, and where I invite you to join me:
What if this life is like my birthday-cake dream? What if we
are living in a reality so immersive that we forget it’s not the whole picture?
What if the purpose isn’t to escape it, but to wake up within it — to
live with more awareness, creativity, and love because we see its deeper
nature?
What if, when this life ends, we wake up to a larger context
— still ourselves, but woven into a greater mind?
And what if this isn’t the end of the journey, but one
chapter in a series of cycles, each one offering new ways for the Infinite to
experience itself?
Not a Conclusion, But a Beginning
I’m not asking you to believe this. I’m not even saying I
believe it in the sense of claiming it’s “the truth.” I’m saying that it might
be worth asking the question.
The Primal Dream is my way of holding that question open —
of honoring the mystery, while noticing the patterns, cycles, and
possibilities.
If any of this sparks your curiosity, then maybe you, too,
are feeling the pull of those green channels — the shortcuts that point us back
toward the center, toward whatever dreamed us into being.
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