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A Dream Within a Dream

I had a conversation with a lady today that sparked me into thinking about other dimensions. Having journeyed into the spirit world countless times I have definitely seen other dimensions. Who is to say what reality is? We are stuck in this third dimension and it pulls down our spirit tremendously. It keeps us locked into this third dimension reality instead of being able to explore all that there is.

It is extremely difficult to imagine other dimensions because of a hold that the third dimension has on us. If you allow yourself to let go and imagine unlimited possibilities you might be able to see that this is not all there is.

Several years ago I did a radio program and had a woman on as a guest who was a psychic. We ended up in a heated debate because she did not believe in time travel or other dimensions. I could not believe this woman claimed to be a psychic and not have the concept of the unlimited possibilities that exist.

Next time you look at something use your third eye and try to see beyond this dimension and see what other possibilities there are.

I am enclosing one of my favorite poems that I think gives a great perspective and thought about not everything being what we see or seem.

Would love to hear your thoughts about other dimensions.

Many blessings,
Cherokee Billie

A Dream Within a Dream 
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

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DANCE OF LIFE


Written by Michael Jackson, from Dancing the Dream. Copyright Michael Jackson 1992.

I cannot escape the moon. Its soft beams push aside the curtains at night. I don’t even have to see it – a cool blue energy falls across my bed and I am up. I race down the dark hall and swing open the door, not to leave home but to go back to it. “Moon, I’m here!” I shout.
“Good,” she replies. “Now give us a little dance.”
But my body has started moving long before she says anything. When did it start? I can’t remember – my body has always been moving. Since childhood I have reacted to the moon this way, as her favorite lunatic, and not just hers. The stars draw me near, close enough so that I see through their twinkling act. They’re dancing, too, doing a soft molecular jiggle that make my carbon atoms jump in time.

With my arms flung wide, I head for the sea, which brings out another dance in me. Moon dancing is slow inside, and soft as blue shadows on the lawn. When the surf booms, I hear the heart of the earth, and the tempo picks up. I feel the dolphins leaping in the white foam, trying to fly, and almost flying when the waves curl high to the heavens. Their tails leave arcs of light as plankton glow in the waves. A school of minnows rises up, flashing silver in the moonlight like a new constellation.
“Ah!” the sea says. “Now we’re gathering a crowd.”

I run along the beach, catching waves with one foot and dodging them with the other. I hear faint popping sounds – a hundred panicky sand crabs are ducking into their holes, just in case. But I’m racing now, sometimes on my toes, sometimes running flat-out. I throw my head back and a swirling nebula says, “Fast now, twirl!”
Grinning, ducking my head for balance, I start to spin as wildly as I can. This is my favorite dance, because it contains a secret. The faster I twirl, the more I am still inside. My dance is all motion without, all silence within. As much as I love to make music, it’s the unheard music that never dies. And silence is my real dance, though it never moves. It stands aside, my choreographer of grace, and blesses each finger and toe.

I have forgotten the moon now and the sea and the dolphins, but I am in their joy more than ever. As far away as a star, as near as a grain of sand, the presence rises, shimmering with light. I could be in it forever, it is so loving and warm. But touch it once, and light shoots forth from the stillness. It quivers and thrills me, and I know my fate is to show others that this silence, this light, this blessing in my dance. I take this gift only to give it again.
“Quick, give!” says the light.

As never before, I try to obey, inventing new steps, new gestures of joy. All at once I sense where I am, running back up the hill. The light in my bedroom is on. Seeing it brings me back down. I begin to feel my pounding heart, the drowsiness in my arms, the warm blood in my legs. My cells want to dance slower. “Can we walk a little?” they ask. “It’s been kind of wild.”
“Sure.” I laugh, slowing to an easy amble.

I turn the doorknob, panting lightly, glad to be tired. Crawling back into bed, I remember something that I always wonder at. They say that some of the stars that we see overhead aren’t really there. Their light takes millions of years to reach us, and all we are doing is looking into the past, to a bygone moment when those stars could still shine.
“So what does a star do after it quits shining?” I ask myself. “Maybe it dies.”
“Oh no,” a voice in my head says. “A star can never die. It just turns into a smile and melts back into the cosmic music, the dance of life.” I like that thought, the last one I have before my eyes close. With a smile, I melt back into the music myself.

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