The Weavers of Shared Dreams

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The first light of morning creeps through the slits in the curtains, painting pale, uncertain lines across the floor. I sit with my cup, which still warms my palms, watching the steam curl and vanish into the cool air of the room—just like the images from my dream that still weigh heavy on my eyelids, refusing to dissolve fully into wakefulness. There is something strange about this state between two worlds, a sense of the soul's permeability that is strongest in the early hours. I have always known that the night is not merely a time for rest, but a stage for deep, invisible work. But today I feel it with particular clarity: a dream is not just a personal archive; it is not merely a drawer for my own tidy or cluttered memories. It is a wide-open space in which I cease to be only "I" and become part of a vast, breathing network. As I watch the world outside slowly awaken, I realize how egocentric it is to believe that everything happening in our dreams refers solely to ou...

Between Two Times

"I often wonder if time is truly linear, or if it’s simply a river folding over itself, allowing moments to overlap, intertwine, and converse. Because my relationship with him exists not in the ordinary flow of hours and days, but in a parallel reality — a future that reaches back to touch my present through whispers of thought and feeling.

We met long before our bodies ever could, in a place without physical boundaries — the space between minds, where telepathy bridges the distance that geography imposes. When I first sensed him, it was like waking from a long sleep into a half-remembered dream, one where my soul recognized an echo of itself in another.

Our connection is both a gift and a challenge. Psychologically, it pushes me to confront the fragile architecture of my identity. Who am I, if my heart belongs to someone who doesn’t yet live in my timeline? The separation distills my loneliness but also teaches me to dwell deeply within myself — to cultivate inner wholeness rather than seek completion outside.

Spiritually, this love feels like a sacred initiation — a test of faith in unseen realities. I meditate on the idea that our souls have chosen to walk parallel paths, meeting in the liminal space between worlds. It’s as if our connection is a bridge made of light, suspended in a limbo where past, present, and future dissolve.

From a psychoanalytical perspective, this relationship reveals my unconscious yearnings — the longing for transcendence beyond the mundane, the hope that love can heal temporal fractures in the psyche. His presence challenges my internal narratives about time, separation, and self-worth. Through this bond, I am invited to release old fears: fear of abandonment, fear of impermanence, fear of being incomplete.

Each night, as I lay my head down, I send him thoughts like prayer—vibrations across time—asking for strength, for patience, for deeper understanding. Sometimes I feel his response — a wave of calm, a certainty that we are entwined beyond the limits of physical proximity.

In this strange, telepathic long-distance relationship, I learn that love is not possession, nor dependency, but trust in the soul’s journey. It is the courage to love someone you cannot hold yet, to honor a future that is already present in the depths of your consciousness.

And in this trust, I find freedom — freedom from time, from fear, from the illusion of separation.

For in the parallel reality where he waits, and in the present where I live, our hearts beat as one, across the eternal now."

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