There Will Arise Among You A Prophet Or A Dreamer Of Dreams

you start to wonder and think you are going mad when the manifestation starts to happen, faster and faster, stronger and stronger
you know it's not a dream, but only because you think you are awake.

Calm..i need some time to get prepared..trust me,i will come

The dream and the dreamer are one. It is easy to recognize the dream of poor little me. It is difficult to recognize the dreamer in poor little me. The truth is simple none the less.

The dream you are having is the illusion of a finite self. There is no doubt that you gaze upon infinity even now. Most fail to recognize this because to create the impression of a finite experience God, or better put… You, must fold the entirely of your infinite being into an experience that can be expressed in terms of time and space.

Potential, growth, progress, change etc. are the stage on which you play your game, pretending a completed picture is not so. You pay attention to specific parts of the fractal and explore those limitations. You don’t realize within those limitations lies the entirety of everything. You cannot see it; I cannot see it either. Still, it is there. Within that crumpled dollar is the wealth of nations. Behind your eyes is the dreamer of dreams, looking upon itself in a full, legitimate expression of infinity it is barely capable of grasping.

I always remember just enough to realize I’ve forgotten something. Just shy of articulating it all just so…

Godspeed Nemo, we needy ou

Interestig ding ding

Other forum gives some interesting link
even just a fiction story
but so interesting

6 1 6 also 13
also cross of 4 7 6 9 also 13

the Celestial Navigator

Celestial Dreamer
[link to marvel.fandom.com (secure)]


The P...

The city of Mazar-i-Sharif was renowned for its beautiful gardens, bustling markets, and ancient temples. But for Asma, the most remarkable thing about the city was its dreamers.

Asma had always been fascinated by the stories of the dreamers, who were said to have the ability to enter into the dreams of others and shape them to their will. It was said that they could bring peace to troubled minds, guide lost souls to the right path, and even heal the sick.

Asma had always dreamed of becoming a dreamer herself, and she had spent countless hours studying the ancient texts and practicing the techniques of dream control. But despite all her efforts, she had never been able to enter into the dream world.

One day, as she sat in the gardens of the Temple of Dreams, feeling frustrated and defeated, an old man approached her. He was tall and thin, with piercing blue eyes and a kind smile.

"Do not despair, young one," he said, sitting down next to her. "The path of the dreamer is not an easy one, but it is a noble one. And it is not one that is chosen, but one that chooses you."

Asma looked at the old man in surprise. "Do you mean that I'm not meant to be a dreamer?"

The old man chuckled. "Not at all. You simply have not found your way yet. But I believe that you have the potential to be a great dreamer, if you are willing to work for it."

Asma's eyes lit up with hope. "What can I do?"

"First, you must understand that the dream world is a delicate and fragile place. It is not something to be taken lightly or manipulated for selfish purposes. The true purpose of the dreamer is to bring peace and enlightenment to those who seek it."

Asma nodded earnestly. "I understand. I want to help people, not harm them."

"Good. Then you are ready to begin your journey." The old man stood up and extended his hand to Asma. "Come with me."

Asma took the old man's hand and followed him to a hidden doorway in the gardens. He led her down a winding staircase, deep into the earth, until they reached a chamber filled with soft light and the sound of trickling water.

"This is the Temple of Dreams," the old man said. "It is a place of peace and contemplation, where the dreamers of Mazar-i-Sharif come to meditate and hone their skills."

Asma looked around in wonder. The chamber was filled with cushions and pillows, and there were several people seated in various poses, their eyes closed in meditation.

The old man led Asma to a cushion and sat down next to her. "Close your eyes and breathe deeply. Let go of your thoughts and your worries. Let the dream world come to you."

Asma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. At first, she was aware of the sound of her own breath and the beating of her heart. But as she focused on her breath and let go of her thoughts, she began to feel a sense of peace and clarity.

And then, suddenly, she was no longer in the Temple of Dreams. She was in a beautiful meadow, surrounded by fields of flowers and rolling hills.

She looked around in wonder, and saw the old man standing a few feet away, smiling at her.

So many retards with no idea what they're talking about but oddly confident in their theories and opinions.

When they end up being wrong, you can see how their lack of hubris justifies what ends up happening to them.

The city of Mazar-i-Sharif was renowned for its beautiful gardens, bustling markets, and ancient temples. But for Asma, the most remarkable thing about the city was its dreamers.

Asma had always been fascinated by the stories of the dreamers, who were said to have the ability to enter into the dreams of others and shape them to their will. It was said that they could bring peace to troubled minds, guide lost souls to the right path, and even heal the sick.

Asma had always dreamed of becoming a dreamer herself, and she had spent countless hours studying the ancient texts and practicing the techniques of dream control. But despite all her efforts, she had never been able to enter into the dream world.

One day, as she sat in the gardens of the Temple of Dreams, feeling frustrated and defeated, an old man approached her. He was tall and thin, with piercing blue eyes and a kind smile.

"Do not despair, young one," he said, sitting down next to her. "The path of the dreamer is not an easy one, but it is a noble one. And it is not one that is chosen, but one that chooses you."

Asma looked at the old man in surprise. "Do you mean that I'm not meant to be a dreamer?"

The old man chuckled. "Not at all. You simply have not found your way yet. But I believe that you have the potential to be a great dreamer, if you are willing to work for it."

Asma's eyes lit up with hope. "What can I do?"

"First, you must understand that the dream world is a delicate and fragile place. It is not something to be taken lightly or manipulated for selfish purposes. The true purpose of the dreamer is to bring peace and enlightenment to those who seek it."

Asma nodded earnestly. "I understand. I want to help people, not harm them."

"Good. Then you are ready to begin your journey." The old man stood up and extended his hand to Asma. "Come with me."

Asma took the old man's hand and followed him to a hidden doorway in the gardens. He led her down a winding staircase, deep into the earth, until they reached a chamber filled with soft light and the sound of trickling water.

"This is the Temple of Dreams," the old man said. "It is a place of peace and contemplation, where the dreamers of Mazar-i-Sharif come to meditate and hone their skills."

Asma looked around in wonder. The chamber was filled with cushions and pillows, and there were several people seated in various poses, their eyes closed in meditation.

The old man led Asma to a cushion and sat down next to her. "Close your eyes and breathe deeply. Let go of your thoughts and your worries. Let the dream world come to you."

Asma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. At first, she was aware of the sound of her own breath and the beating of her heart. But as she focused on her breath and let go of her thoughts, she began to feel a sense of peace and clarity.

And then, suddenly, she was no longer in the Temple of Dreams. She was in a beautiful meadow, surrounded by fields of flowers and rolling hills.

She looked around in wonder, and saw the old man standing a few feet away, smiling at her.