Sleep as a Hobby

I found this beautiful dream in Korean.... So I'm translating this right here ^_^

The air was crispy clear,
I was flying sky high like a free bird.
Floating with fluffy clouds,
A blue light shot from the ground.

A pub with a cowboy atmosphere,
I looked around to see an old man and a devil;
Pointy ears and pointy teeth.

They were casually talking and drinking,
Like old friends.

I had a sudden feeling that
They might solve a question I longed to figure.

I made my mind and approached to a devil.
The devil stared at me; a passionate red light embracing me.
The devil opened his mouth and spoke;

“Do not try to find meaning in your life.
Meaning generates infinite riddles with no answers.
You have a heart; do what you ‘feel’ like.
That is a sole purpose, a duty in your life.”

It is the devil’s advice,
Unreasonable offence engulfed the wisdom.
I talked to the old man, watching;
The old man stared at me; a knowledgeable purple light embracing me.
The old man opened his mouth and spoke;

“What are you worrying about?
Act as you feel like,
Do not worry about the result ahead.
Reflect once you get there.
You are the one who perceive with action.”

I take a memo of their wisdom,
An answer might have stayed within my deep conscious.
It was a good dream.


Comment:
Dreams reflect our subconscious; results of the same dream can be completely deferred by situation and a person. It needs intuition and a conscious trust to interpret them.
Flying the sky is the new start with new vision. The blue light shot from the ground forced ‘me’ to face the reality; the pub.
The old man and the devil talking is a coexistence of emotion and wisdom.
The old man is wisdom and intelligence, a devil is a repulsive resistance against reality.
The red light is passion. The devil’s talk is not a belief or a notion, but chants for exposing an emotion, a life and a red passion. The purple light is wisdom, urging ‘me’ to focus on the action more than a mere thought.

I still clearly remember a nightmare
I had at the age of seven.

A dusty basement surrounded with gray walls.
A very old wooden chair; making a creaking sound,
Stood alone in the middle of a barren room.

There was a little bar at a ceiling,
Showing a handful of light,
Strangely lighting the raggedy old chair
Like a spot light.

I was at the corner of the dark room, crouching.
Watching the whole scene without motion.

A gust of dry wind gave me goose bumps.
I felt loneliness, sadness
In a queerly jailed like space.

I was… … crying.


The dream was not scary, but my mother told me I was shouting…
I stated the dream as a nightmare for tears. But it still makes me wonder…
Why did I cry?