.: Entry Five :.
My name might just happen to be Elliot Parker.
I might just be in a good mood… I might have had that dream again. Ok, yeah, I am even irritating myself.
But hey. I had that dream again!
I love that room. Being there, it changes everything.
The smell of the old books. I tried Peter Pan’s thimble on… it was shiny and cold but it was pretty. I made it to the bird’s nest this time. It was so high up I almost forgot to breathe. Coming back to the room, it was warmer, that is for sure. The books have stayed more in focus and sharper since the last time. The room still smells like books. I wanted to sit down this time, but I couldn’t quite envision what I wanted to sit on. So I sat on the floor. Still that was new it was a change. The floor was rough and dusty but I found a little corner and propped myself against a bookshelf or two and ran my fingers down the spines of the books nearby. Some looked as though they had never been opened, they looked like they should never be opened. Others looked so well worn that you could just tell they had been read and loved so many times. I tried to picture who else read these books. If anyone else could read these books. If anyone else could use my room here in this world. It was mine, but sometimes things seemed to have been moved just slightly, a little more to the left or right of where I thought I had put them before. Of course, this room once it appeared, it was never tidy. So perhaps it was just what happens when the books come through the floor. Perhaps that’s just where they jiggle and land.
It felt a bit silly to be hopeful that someone else might have been here and experienced some of the amazing things that could and do happen in this room. The other stories that are in here. Do I really share this space, my space with anyone? Probably not. But it didn’t exactly feel good that someone else probably could, if they really wanted to, find themselves in this place. This is my private place. The idea, however hopeful, still felt violating.
My name is Elliot Parker. And after all, this is my dream. This room, these stories, and challenges, they are mine!
So what if I am possessive? It’s my secret place that I have never seen but I know this place it has to be real. Dreams don’t feel this tangible, not really. Dreams don’t let you change things.
That’s it! That is how I might know if I share the room. I could change something. I need something next time I have this dream again. I need a, something, if I could create a note book and pen, I could write something. But what? What can I possibly write?
Dreams aren’t meant to be changed it might not work.
But it will work. It will work because I want it to.
If I can climb the rigging on that ship swinging back and forth with the waves, if I can get to the top and reach that damn bird’s nest… I can change something in this room. I can do something in this room. Probably just something small. If I keep changing it, even incrementally I can get more control, more strength, I can do more things.
I already changed something in the real world from the empowerment I garnered here. I can do something in this dream from the empowerment I garnered and I can change something again and get more control.
It can be done.
I will do it.
I am so tired. But sleep, that is something that will have to wait.
I am Elliot Parker, I had a dream again. And now, I want to change it.
The clothes, that felt easy. It felt deliberate. What I choose has to be deliberate. It has to be what I want. On more than one scale. It has to spread through every thought to become a conscious choice, a conscious thought. A conscious thought in an unconscious world. Is that even possible? It shouldn’t be. But I am the girl. I am the girl and I love the impossible-ness that I am. If I can do anything change anything, maybe I can find out what this room is. If someone else goes there. If they do, I can find out who they are, in the waking world. If someone else shares that space, maybe just maybe I could find a way to bring someone else into that world.
I did it before, by accident through anxiety. But it is not possible for them to be aware of what this is if they even know or remember. I wouldn’t want to ask anyway. It’s not the kind of thing you can ask someone that you don’t get on with that you just resigned your job with. That’s not cool.
But what is cool is that I changed it. If I can harness whatever focus brought the change.
That’s it, it’s the change itself. I keep thinking about the change and the cause, the anxiety. But it’s the change it made to me, how it made me feel. That empowerment, it wasn’t a fleeting emotion. It lasted. It lasted through waking up, it provided the courage and empowerment to make a choice for my own self. It touched the real world. It changed me, now this dream can change to. I can take control of it, surely just on the premise that I know it can be done? That should be how it works right? If I follow my instinct, it will help me do what I want to do. What I need to do. What I must do to find out how the hell this all works.