The Dreaming
I was in Egypt for two weeks in November, anchoring myself in temples and tombs along the Nile River. My dreams in Egypt were potent and bold and alien, but I have yet to translate them into a language or imagery I can share.
Dreams tend to screen themselves as something mundane to avoid breaking our brains. My husband says he only dreams of boring things like emptying dishwashers and riding passenger side in cars — but those dreams are also potent, and they have messages too.
I had several dreams of Susan Sarandon gifting me things and taking me under her wing before I realized who she symbolized. She was my Goddess archetype and once the goddess broke through me (read about it here), I stopped dreaming of Susan Sarandon and I started dreaming of the Goddess herself. Sometimes the goddess appears as Isis, or she is a beautiful warrior woman with wings or sometimes she is me. A screen is no longer needed in that case.
In Egypt there were no screens over my dreams. The veil was lifted and I was shot out to other planets, rapid-fire slipping into other consciousnesses — most of them not even human.
I remind myself that these visions are not fixed realities inviting me to come and live within them. They are tools to help dismantle the mental frameworks that were never mine to begin with. The ways of thinking that were handed down to me externally.
When you decide to spiral inward instead of out toward the world, you'll quickly discover there is a deep, deep abyss within you — and it is roaring.
In dreams I fly, I stretch across time, I create new realities, I shape-shift, I teleport, I talk to angels, animals, aliens and ghosts.
Dreams act as floodgates for the imaginal and the imagination. They create new ways of seeing that will defy everything you knew before.
With that said, in waking life I will never levitate. I will never manifest billions of dollars. I will never wake up one morning in a different timeline or reality.
I have limitations because I am anchored here on Earth, and before I was born I made a promise to play this thing out as human and to play by the rules or laws of nature.
And all of that is OK with me, because I have my dreams. And when I leave my body at night and I travel through the worlds, it's not an act of escapism. It is a radical act of humanism.
I only have this short blip of life and I hope I'm doing it right, and some people stay in school forever or go to church for guidance or fill their brains with books, but I just go to The Dreaming.
Every night is like reaching into a grab bag of universal consciousness and pulling out other-worldly views of time and space and love and humanness.
Here is an unedited stream of consciousness after one of those dreams in Egypt:
Monday, November 14, 2022, 11:49pm. Dream notes. They are showing me my home planet. I can’t confirm if it is Mars, but Mars-like, red rocks. Someday they’ll find the tombs there. Maybe my body is there or maybe I only had a light body, not a physical body. The creature life there glowed in the dark or was bioluminescent in psychedelic colors. Maybe I was a creature or maybe I was ALL the creatures. One entity … the entire planet breathing in my bioluminescent veins. I danced like an aboriginal with neon colored ink on my body. And when I danced new realities materialized before me. Dreams were my bloodline, like now. This is just one lifespan. Non-human. Not of this Earth. I have transcended before on another planet. This is why I feel like a gypsy, why I have no roots, why stability can sometimes feel like a prison. All these facets of life we chose for ourselves are man-made obstacle courses for us to “remember” and grow past our temporary circumstances. I have to extend my soul spirit out past this planet, make it reach back in to the future where the past begins and connect all my lives on the wheel of time. All that wisdom from other lives, other planets. The fruits of my experience. The wheel must become that. When I say I have to “get off the wheel,” I mean I need to be in the hub driving it, fully remembering all my alien lives. All the aspects can come home now.
Guiding your rivers of doubt
I fell asleep with worries on my mind. In my dream, I found myself navigating the rivers of doubts within me. I tried to make the negative streams of energy disappear. I was told, “You can’t dispel your rivers of fears, you can only guide them.” You do this by aligning yourself with freedom and possibilities and trust. You build embankments or boundaries within you. This is how you prevent flooding of emotions. This is how you channel your gifts toward your purpose. All rivers flow toward the Sea. This is how you guide yourself toward the Universe.
Sunday Consciousness
I have been there — on those Sundays
standing on the cathedral steps
when the sun is bright and pious
and it blinds me
What kind of worship is this?
When even in my Sunday dress
and frilly socks
and Mary Janes —
I feel unworthy
What kind of worship is this?
Beams of light dancing on a little girl's skin
and still she feels shame
What kind of worship is this?
This God must die
I have been there — too many times
standing on those steps
sinking into that Sunday consciousness
Here is atonement
Here is absolution
But why must I answer to anyone or anything?
I go back there in my mind —
to those blinding Sundays
to those pious steps
to that sinking consciousness
I pray to a dead God
and I create a new one
What kind of worship is this?
The sun continues to shine — pirouettes on my skin
and even though the sun is outside of me
it warms from within
and this is how my new God
chooses to love me
Things that do not belong to me
For the past month, I’ve been dreaming a lot about things that don’t belong to me — things like houses, lovers, jewelry. I covet them. I steal them. I fall in love with them. But in the end I wake up with none of it.
When I was a child, I would sometimes burst into tears upon waking, because the really cool thing I found in a dream did not exist. I still remember how badly I wanted those x-ray glasses, or the treasure chest filled with gold, or that fallen star gleaming in my hand.
I don’t cry about that anymore. As an adult I learned the hard way that not every beautiful thing belongs to me. “Sometimes the grown-up thing to do is ooh & ahh & walk away.”
But there are dream gifts that you can pull into real life. They come in the form of words, or images or in the spatial dimensions of an emotion.
I pay closest attention to Full Moon dreams, New Moon dreams, dreams while traveling or menstruating, birthday dreams, and even dreams on holidays can carry gifts.
Last night’s Full Moon dream had edges.
I found myself at an open house. As I walked through, each room was more beautiful and extravagant than the last. Exalted ceilings, ornate wood, gilded mouldings, stained glass. There were murals and mosaics and unearthed marble tile that had been restored. All the colors were rich and lustrous, and my heart ached to be bathed in their light.
I knew I could never own this house. It wasn’t for sale. They were only looking for a subletter, anyway. Someone who would live in the smallest room, without a view, and remain fairly unknown. There would be no lease or binding contract. No proof that I ever belonged there.
At the end of the dream, I stood there in the largest room — a Turkish-style bath — staring at the fairy-tale like murals. So much history that I was not a part of, so much future that I would never know. And I cried. Not like a child. Not because I couldn’t have something beautiful. I cried because I loved it anyway. I cried because it existed, and I appreciated it, and I would never forget it. And it didn’t matter who would live in this house or own it, I was here now, grounded in the moment, surrounded by walls that I loved — walls that I would let keep me forever.
Even after I awoke, I was still within those walls. That is the gift I brought back with me. My heart had a new shape — as if the dream had tugged on its edges and stretched it out further into the world. A new appreciation for all the beautiful things that will never belong to me, but that I get to see and love anyway.
A still-frame from a dream
I’m out in the backyard of a strange home that is my home. The sky is dim, like a French noir film. There is a little girl bathing in a kiddie pool. She is not mine, but she is an aspect of me — the young, feminine psyche baptizing herself in the shallow end of her subconscious. I look up and see an inflatable pool toy in the shape of a butterfly floating across the sky. It is colorful and striking against the grey light. The butterfly is both the spirit and the psyche and it belongs to me. It has broken free and glides across the forefront of my mind and thoughts. I reach for my phone to take a picture. I knew it would make a beautiful picture.
A New Temple
A New Temple is the completion of a three-month psyche project. It is a short, small book of poetry, dreams, visions and animal spirit messages. It is a quest for healing ancestral trauma and it is dedicated to my bloody, muddy ancestral mothers who made their entrance in the middle of my life and said, “You wanted aliens, but instead you got us.” It is available here.
A form of cord cutting is becoming a new creature. This book was a quest to heal and to honor my mothers by building a temple with my words. Their blood is my ink. Completing this was a form of soul recovery. Now that it’s out of my system, my psyche has more room to play and imagine and create something new.
The book itself is 5 x 7 inches and 54 pages long. A New Temple begins somewhere in the middle and the rest is a visual journey through dreams, visions, poetry and animal spirit messages. Below are some pages from the book.
Astrological Consequences Or How To Embody Freedom
My birth chart.
I received a reading from my favorite cosmic outlaw / astrologer Antero Alli — side note: there really should exist more cosmic outlaws in my life — and his advice helped me evolve the concept of Freedom in my life. He said:
Freedom is the ability to make any decision, or take any action, as long as you are willing to “buy” the consequences.
So I try to have a constant awareness of consequences and a persistent self-question of “Can I buy the consequences?” All of my actions and decisions come from a deep yes inside of me and because of that I feel the embodiment of freedom every day.
Note: This post is an excerpt from my weekly mind dump newsletter, sent out each Friday.
Late night revelations
Sometimes, after weed and wine, I’ll have a “revelation.” Usually, in the light of day, I’ll delete them. Some I’ll keep forever, like this one:
Note: This post is an excerpt from my weekly mind dump newsletter, sent out each Friday.
Spirit orbs in Oakland
My studio in Oakland was a hot spot for hauntings. I would often sense when spirits would drop in. This is a photo (2010) of one my ghostly visitors.
Oh my darling demons!
Oh, my darling demons
I love you
I love you for all the drinks
and the flings
and the hearts you break —
including my own
But mostly, I love you
for the words you write
words wearing masks
and carrying machetes
and these words
are always so charming
even when they undress
to show the ugliest bodies
On sacred loneliness
This is not a how-to. There are no steps for shifting loneliness into solitude. Loneliness is an intrusion that makes my bones cold. Loneliness feels like a void and Solitude is a sanctuary. Some days I just feel separate from the universe.
I think of the Rupi Kaur quote “Loneliness is a sign you are in desperate need of yourself,” but what I am missing is not myself, but my connection with the Divine. And Yes, I know the Divine is also me, but knowing this doesn’t make the loneliness go away.
The gaping hole in my heart grows wider and I ache for a sign, or a signal of love, or for someone to seek me out. When I was in my twenties this is when I would go out to bars, get drunk, sleep around — anything to escape myself. What I do now is different.
I seek out nothing. I acknowledge that I am in pain and I sit with it. I imagine other humans feeling this same profound sadness with no source point and I breathe into that feeling. This is how I create an equilibrium. I remind myself this is a condition of being human. I find connection in the separateness and that is what brings me comfort.
This mystifying grief called loneliness belongs to you and it belongs to me and everyone else, and that is what makes it sacred.
Unraveling the Scarcity Mindset & The Soul of Money
Unraveling the “scarcity mindset” installed in me as a child was something I decided to tackle a couple months ago when I was mistakenly billed for a medical procedure. For a moment I thought I had to pay a thousand dollars, and even though I have the money, and more importantly, the ability to earn that money, I had a small anxiety attack that teleported me back to life before my 30s, when I had no money. I knew that if I didn’t deal with my “insufficiency” wiring that no matter how secure or stable I am in life I would never be as free and happy as I deserve to be. As we all deserve to be.
Below is a short poem I wrote — a glimpse into my childhood. After that are excerpts from a book that helped me complete this “soul work” of unraveling the scarcity mindset. Before this book has been a lot of other work: talk therapy, journaling, cutting cords, prayer and stillness. I learned to create a world of abundance and sufficiency. I am more mindful of the flow of money. I am grateful every day for food, a home and a warm bed. If you ever need someone to talk about this, you can email me at claudia@claudiadawson.blog.
“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, but spiritual beings having a human experience.”
At one point, a womb was enough. Then came birth and all my parents’ fears and failings and flails became mine. I was drowning too. Underneath poorness and not enough. Money came and went like a river in drought. Roofs came and went. Shelter lines came and went. A free loaf of bread and a peanut butter jar could last us all week. Saltines for dinner sometimes. A cup of noodles in tap water warming on a window sill. This had to be enough sometimes. At one point, a womb was enough. Another new school, another first day, I’m 10 and wearing an XL men’s t-shirt down to my knees. I try to make friends, try to be bigger than my circumstances. I carve out a safe space inside of me, follow my intuition. Keep my head above water. At one point, a womb was enough. Then I’m born and scarcity began to build a grave for me.
“Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”
Once we define our world as deficient, the total of our life energy, everything we think, everything we say, and everything we do—particularly with money—becomes an expression of an effort to overcome this sense of lack and the fear of losing to others or being left out.
The toxic myth is that “more is better”. More of anything is better than what we have. It’s the logical response if you fear there’s not enough, but more is better drives a competitive culture of accumulation, acquisition, and greed that only heightens fears and quickens the pace of the race.
More is better misguides us in a deeper way. It leads us to define ourselves by financial success and external achievements. We judge others based on what they have and how much they have, and miss the immeasurable inner gifts they bring to life. All the great spiritual teachings tell us to look inside to find the wholeness we crave, but the scarcity chase allows no time or psychic space for that kind of introspection.
When we believe that more is better, and equate having more with being more—more smart or more able—then people on the short end of that resource stick are assumed to be less smart, less able, even less valuable, as human beings. We feel we have permission to discount them.
This mind-set of scarcity is not something we intentionally created or have any conscious intention to bring into our life. It was here before us and it will likely persist beyond us, perpetuated in the myths and language of our money culture. We do, however, have a choice about whether or not to buy into it and whether or not to let it rule our lives.
By sufficiency, I don’t mean a quantity of anything. Sufficiency isn’t two steps up from poverty or one step short of abundance. It isn’t a measure of barely enough or more than enough. Sufficiency isn’t an amount at all. It is an experience, a context we generate, a declaration, a knowing that there is enough, and that we are enough.
Sufficiency resides inside of each of us, and we can call it forward. It is a consciousness, an attention, an intentional choosing of the way we think about our circumstances. Sufficiency is a context we bring forth from within that reminds us that if we look around us and within ourselves, we will find what we need. There is always enough.
So often we think of “abundance” as the point at which we’ll know we’ve really arrived, but abundance continues to be elusive if we think we’ll find it in some excessive amount of something. True abundance does exist; it flows from sufficiency, in an experience of the beauty and wholeness of what is. Abundance is a fact of nature. It is a fundamental law of nature, that there is enough and it is finite. Its finiteness is no threat; it creates a more accurate relationship that commands respect, reverence, and managing those resources with the knowledge that they are precious and in ways that do the most good for the most people.
Money is a current, a carrier, a conduit for our intentions. Money carries the imprimatur of our soul.
If your attention is on the problems and breakdowns with money, or scarcity thinking that says there isn’t enough, more is better or that’s just the way it is, then that is where your consciousness resides. Those thoughts and fears grow from the attention you give them and can take over your life. No matter how much money you have, it won’t be enough. No amount of money will buy you genuine peace of mind. You expand the presence and the power of scarcity and tighten its grip on your world.
When we let go of trying to get more of what we don’t really need, we free up an enormous amount of energy that has been tied up in the chase. We can refocus and reallocate that energy and attention toward appreciating what we already have, what’s already there, and making a difference with that. Not just noticing it, but making a difference with what we already have. When you make a difference with what you have, it expands.
We think we live in the world. We think we live in a set of circumstances, but we don’t. We live in our conversation about the world and our conversation about the circumstances. When we’re in a conversation about fear and terror, about revenge and anger and retribution, jealousy and envy and comparison, then that is the world we inhabit. If we’re in a conversation about possibility, a conversation about gratitude and appreciation for the things in front of us, then that’s the world we inhabit.
Scarcity speaks in terms of never enough, emptiness, fear, mistrust, envy, greed, hoarding, competition, fragmentation, separateness, judgment, striving, entitlement, control, busy, survival, outer riches. In the conversation for scarcity we judge, compare, and criticize; we label winners and losers. We celebrate increasing quantity and excess. We center ourselves in yearning, expectation, and dissatisfaction. We define ourselves as better-than or worse-than. We let money define us, rather than defining ourselves in a deeper way and expressing that quality through our money.
Sufficiency speaks in terms of gratitude, fulfillment, love, trust, respect, contributing, faith, compassion, integration, wholeness, commitment, acceptance, partnership, responsibility, resilience, and inner riches. In the conversation for sufficiency we acknowledge what is, appreciate its value, and envision how to make a difference with it. We recognize, affirm, and embrace. We celebrate quality over quantity. We center ourselves in integrity, possibility, and resourcefulness. We define our money with our energy and intention.
If you look back on the experience of freedom in your life chances are that it wasn’t when you were measuring the options against one another, or making sure you weren’t getting stuck with a decision. It was when you were fully expressed, playing full out. It was when you chose fully and completely, when you knew you were in the place you were meant to be in, when perhaps you even felt a sense of destiny. That’s when we’re free and self-expressed, and joyful or at peace with circumstances—when we choose them. We bring that freedom to our relationship with money when we center ourselves in sufficiency, choose to appreciate the resources that are there, feel their flow through our life, and use them to make a difference.
Additional Reading:
How to feel like you have enough by Christine Garvey
How am I not myself? T-shirt
I designed a t-shirt dreamed out of a favorite movie of mine, I Heart Huckabees, and put it up on Society6.
I drew the chalkboard art depicting how everything is the same even if it’s different. See: The Blanket Truth — “We’re all connected.”
“How am I not myself?” is from the scene where Jude Law is confronted about the “mayo” story. A reminder that the repetitive stories you tell about yourself are propaganda.
“For all the supernatural lust in your eyes: BELIEVE”
Dream Journal, August 2, 2011
Disclaimer: I was 27 when I had this dream. I feel like anything written or experienced in your twenties should have a disclaimer.
I was walking the streets of San Francisco, sometimes it was Oakland. Irrelevant though, because it was acting more like an old lover. Acting as if it had forgotten me, never loved me, moved on to better things. Still, I stepped onto every curb and turned every corner trying to remember what drew me to fall in love in the first place. There was a boy, like there always is, and at every crosswalk we met. I tried walking in front of him, tried leaving him behind like so many had done to me before, but somehow we kept crossing paths. My destination/destiny became a broken-down bookstore where Spacewaves was performing. Suddenly, I knew his name was Camus and that he was their new drummer. I said, “Fine. You can have me.” Then, I dragged him into the bathroom and made out with him, like I was drunk, but I wasn’t. Not even on love, I don’t think. I left him there and as I walking out, a stranger with an Indian accent, stopped me and said, “Don't be afraid of Camus. Rule him the perversion in your life. For all the supernatural lust in your eyes: BELIEVE.”
Note: When the Indian stranger said “perversion” he also said “purpose,” like at the same time.
A mantra for clearing shame
Sometimes — seemingly out of nowhere — I’ll find myself stuck in a spiderweb of negativity. What I feel is resentment or fear or anxiety. I avoid giving it a story. I simply say:
This feeling does not belong to me. I return it back to the Universe.
And then I’ll often make a sweeping away gesture with my arms that looks really silly and weird, but is so damn helpful at releasing shame and shooing it away.
Update: The hologram as visual took for grief
Grief Deck is a free visual resource for grief support. All the cards were made by artists or caregivers or someone who has lost someone. Anyone can contribute if you have something to say about processing loss. You scroll seemingly endlessly for an image card that resonates with you, when you click on it, it flips to deliver a prompt or meditation to focus on and let your feelings arise. Grief has never been something I expect to go away, but it is something I learned to coexist with. The best advice I ever received regarding grief was to schedule it — daily if you need to. For a month, I would hold in my tears until I was alone and then I would cry until I was exhausted. After a month, it became less and less, but I never stop making space for it. Here is the card I contributed to Grief Deck, inspired by my father-in-law who we lost last year.
We’re taught at a young age in school that form is in flux. Water can change its physical state from solid to liquid to gas a million times and never lose any part of itself. We forget this fact in grief. The ones we love die and we forget to sense their new state. We only miss the form which we lost. We cry and grieve, but somewhere in this realm there is a hologram, and it is made of love, and it has no physical form — only feeling — but that feeling is one that heals and integrates and transcends all sadness. Try to spend some time feeling this new form.
What has carried me (an ever-expanding list)
What has carried me from birth until now has been this: love, the openness of the world, wild overgrown yards, imagining I am a princess warrior, digging for dinosaur bones, calling out for god in the dark, what prayer is, wishes, the sky at night, that one star brighter than the rest, my grandfather communicating from the dead, love, the dimensions of dreams, coincidences — no — synchronicities, magic spells that work, love, being alone but not feeling alone, love that grows claws, my mother in my throat chakra, art as a choice, stretching past my shame, a wide open sky, walking in nature, aliens, the believers, love, a murmuration of birds, love, falling down on my knees, getting back up, a warm bed, nostalgia, oh my god, so much nostalgia, animals as familiars, freedom, every beautiful thing, this incessant flowering of time and life — each day, I open my heart up for the looting.
The resurrection of Phantom Kangaroo
More than 10 years ago, I created an online poetry magazine called Phantom Kangaroo. Its birth could be described like this:
Strange occurrences of kangaroos appearing in areas where they should not be are sometimes reported. Often they appear ghost-like, disappearing or hopping through walls.
Some speculate they are aliens, or spirits haunting us from another dimension. Someone suggested animal teleportation, maybe they bounce in and out of existence. Whatever they are, these phantom kangaroos are an omen. A cryptic warning that you will soon be falling into the unknown. They seem to say: I am real and I am a hoax, and so are you.
Sometimes poems seem to say the same thing. Sightings of these poems can be found here.
I was in my mid-twenties, poor and living in a studio in West Oakland. Phantom Kangaroo was a passion project that, at times, couldn’t sustain itself. Like the cryptid, it hopped in and out of existence. At one point the domain was held hostage by algorithms wanting thousands of dollars to give it back. So I waited it out.
This past year of sheltering and cocooning forced me to rummage through my inner cauldron for all the things that bring me life. Creating a space for poetry is one of them. For the past few months, I worked late nights and weekends to put together something that was long overdue — Phantom Kangaroo: The Anthology. It is a 296-page hardcover book of 300 magical and paranormal poems published during the past decade.
Now that it’s complete and no longer haunting me, I have resurrected the magazine. Issue 24 will be published on June 13, 2021, along with the first ever print magazine. Phantom Kangaroo remains an eerie place for poems. The door to the unknown is now wide open.
Journal entries: March 19
March 19, 2020 — one year ago today
It’s been only a couple of days since a Shelter in Place order has been given to the Bay Area. The situation is this: my husband is still working, nothing has changed for me really, except I am going out into the world even less than I was before.
I am trying to find solace in my own shelter. We have spent a few nights outside watching the sky go grey, then dark. Last Sunday, my husband grilled burgers for us, while we listened to Ryan Adams, and I sat under the patio cover looking at the rain pour down.
It is humbling, it is sobering, it is beautiful, it is expected, it is necessary, it is happening.
I hope we come out of this for the better, I hope we come out of this stronger.
I hope we’re all realizing what really matters, and what really matters are the people we love and wish safe, and our own mental health which is now being tested.
I’ve realized in this self-quarantined time that I need time alone, away from work, yes, but mostly away from my identity as a wife, to write. I regret everyday that I am not writing, and every day that passes that I don’t reflect or look inward at what is happening inside.
When I die, I will die alone. I need to make peace with myself before then.
One thing that has been coming to light since this all began is how grateful I am, every single day, to not be a mother. Right now, it’s just the two of us and our quiet, sweet pets and I couldn’t ask for more.
Let’s imagine the worst case scenario. Everyone must be quarantined at home for the remainder of their lives.
How will we be aching to connect?
Right now I just want to let the world go. Instead, I want to swan dive into the stars, echoing out:
Is anyone here?
March 19, 2021 — today
It’s been more than a year now since the world shut down, and I’m finally seeing a bit of light at the end of the tunnel. My husband is fully vaccinated. I just got my first shot. I’m letting myself be excited about the Summer.
The things that happened, or unfolded, in the last year — death, retreat, loss — none of it really changed me. I still recognize that voice in last year’s journal entry. She was a woman who sat in acceptance and gratitude.
We all went inward this past year, and what it did for me was center me more firmly.
Five years ago today, my husband proposed to me on a hike in the Marin Headlands. I am dubbing March 19 the day of acceptance.
I never wanted to be a wife. I was resolved to spend my days alone in a trailer surrounded by books and mystical objects found in thrift stores. I was very lucky to find someone that makes me feel free and in love.
This past year sequestered in our home together was, for the most part, fun — like an adventure. I’m always hesitant to share that, because I know how hard it was for others, but I will never apologize for that.
I made a conscious choice to marry my husband. Before I made the final decision to not have children I read books like Reconceiving Women: Separating Motherhood from Female Identity and Regretting Motherhood: A Study, and more importantly, I talked about it a lot with my therapist. It is by far the most self-aware, conscious choice I have ever made for myself, and I can honestly say, the best choice I’ve ever made for myself.
Everything that brings me happiness and is a benefit to my life was born out of conscious choices.
Conscious choices don’t have to be hard to make. I quiet the voice. I consume information. I listen to the way my body reacts. I feel for my soul in the dark. I discover a reality that’s already unfolded. I always already know the answer.
Visual: Mind Voyages I
Here’s a gif I made of what I see when I meditate, attempting to traverse space consciousness.
“For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the power of reason, the story ends like a bad dream. He has scaled the mountain of ignorance; he is about to conquer the highest peak; as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by a band of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries.”
— Robert Jastrow, The Enchanted Loom: Mind in the Universe