Upon the cold pillow lies the restless head of man, whose disgraced dreams, which would, or should, be all of the Visions of God’s own making, are instead bent to petty aims and empty theologies of belief whose only achievement is the eternal and endless fracturing of themselves into ever smaller shards of doubt and despair (dispair, disrepair)
The cold pillow which should support the soul of man in his wandring sleep to countless other worlds and others times records no hope of all it sees or hears behind the slumbring eyes which cannot speak of all they know except in cryptic slivers neath the silvered moon.
(fragments of two stanzas of verse from a dream I awoke from… this also gave me an idea for a Theurgical pillow I intend to design and have embroidered with scriptures, images, Ikons, etc. to inspire New Dreams and Visions while I sleep… I intend to do the same for an Ancient headrest.)
Wyrdwend 