As i find myself in the middle of the Dreaming, I know myself to be bombarded by an intense stream of light. It’s a light that leaves no shadows, because there is nothing there to stand between myself and the light. There is just light—an infinite field of light that extends itself in all directions. And anytime I find myself in any kind of dream, which is to say any type of experience whatsoever, I am in the middle of this vast field of light.
The light, intense, with a loud silence, is so devastating that I cannot remain in any way myself in its presence. So intense is this light that I begin to forget even that I am. This point of consciousness, which I seem to always be calling “I,” begins to dissolve itself and I seem to enter a state of forgetfulness—of not being.
There is, I have found long ago, a way to protect myself from the intensity of this relentless light, a barrier raised between me and the blinding light. It is not so much a physical barrier but a tweak of the imagination. An interpretation of light. A way of processing light. I break it down into slower lightwaves, just like a prism breaks down sunlight into a rainbow. And this light that surrounds me is broken down into an endless stream of dreams and experiences. Broken down this light becomes color, shape, form. Broken down it becomes sound, sensation. It becomes space and time. And all experience, all sound, all vision is in a way the way in which I am dealing with this infinite field of light.
It is completely immaterial, you understand, if I call this experience a dream, if I call it life, if I call it tragedy, if I call it experience. Completely immaterial because in the face of the light all else is a shadow.
And in each case it is I who stands in the center of this world of my creation; of this moment of experience. I experience. To understand that basic equation is to begin to grasp the task of the dreamer, and to begin to understand that to master the Dreaming is to master life; that to master experience is to master self. There is no one there creating this experience for me other than myself. It is a constant dealing between me and the light.
––More in: The Golden Flower, by Koyote the Blind