Freq #0007 — On Dreams
When I was a child, I caught myself dreaming.
Something felt off. I looked down at my hands — and the world unraveled into ribbons of sand, spinning toward oblivion.
Later, I saw a film that portrayed it almost exactly the same way. Incredible. Not surprising.
We are stardust.
There’s an early moment in lucid dreaming — a flash of awareness. A decision point.
How do I respond?
Maybe you’ve felt it — flying high, sensing the fall coming. You close your eyes. Hold your breath. Let go.
But here’s the truth:
Your mind is still at the wheel.
You can crash. Or you can turn into a giant bird and sail.
The decision is yours.
Lucid dreaming became a ritual for me. I was flying before I had a license to drive. Exploring secret rooms. Switching dreams on an old knob-styled television set, fading into whichever one I chose.
Over time, I realized something:
The dream wasn’t controlling me.
I was practicing.
Your dreams are proving grounds for waking life.
There are moments now — in boardrooms, in relationships, in reinvention — where that same awareness flickers on.
Something feels off. You look at your hands.
You can brace for impact. Or you can choose differently.
Listening to your heart isn’t irrational. It’s lucid.
The clues are always there. The flashback just hasn’t happened yet.
What if our imagination works in the same way as our dreams?
What if every day, in each moment, we decide how we respond to our circumstances?
Imagination isn't reserved for children.
It's a place we go to dream without limits, without fear, without consequence.
to dream again today?
I drove to my parents' house.
As I was parking in the driveway,
a cardinal of the reddest hue
swooped in my direction
and landed on a fence post just feet away.
It began to sing.
Three distinct songs.
Right to me.
Later that day, I was at my desk
when I heard a shrill rattle.
I knew immediately what it was —
a woodpecker pecking into my chimney.
Peck. Peck. Peck.
Later still, I was on my bike.
Right as I crested a hill
and began to press the pedals again,
a cry split the air above me.
I looked up.
A red-tailed hawk, soaring.
And I was reminded of something.
Messages can look and sound
very different from one another.
Some arrive as pleasant songs.
Some arrive as painful pecks.
Peck. Peck. Peck.
And some arrive as cries in the sky.
But they are all messages nonetheless.
They are all messages nonetheless.
They are all messages nonetheless.
