“Silent”is an animated short film created by Academy Award® winning Moonbot Studios. It celebrates how storytellers, inventors, and technology work together to create cinema magic.
The story follows two street performers who dream of bringing their “Picture and Sound Show” to life. When they discover a magical contraption inside an old theatre, they embark on a cinematic adventure of sight and sound to find the audience they always wanted.
The sound was created by Oscar® nominated sound designer Steve Boeddeker. Get a look at how “Silent” was made here: vimeo.com/87014798
“Silent” debuted at the Scientific and Technical Academy Awards on February 15, 2014.
Film Review by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Created Thursday 12th Dec. 2013
Posted On Friday 13th Dec. 2013 FILM FRIDAY Dead Again
[Life after love. Love after life.]
After the title “Dead Again,” the film opens with the word MURDER. Followed by headlines of the murder mixed amongst the opening credits. Headline: STRAUSS ARRESTED. TRIAL OPENS TODAY. STRAUSS FOUND GUILTY December 10th 1949. STRAUSS GETS DEATH. Strauss begins singing a lament in the background toward the end of the credits. Fade In to Roman Strauss [Kenneth Branagh] getting a haircut. He is visited by one member of the press Mr. Gray Baker [Andy Garcia].
Roman Strauss wants a favor from Mr. Baker. After all he has been writing all about his arrest, trial, guilty verdict and his death sentence. Mr. Gray Baker owed Roman Strauss to print his request of an exact quote, “I loved my wife and that I love her forever.”
Roman continues to talk when Mr. Baker asks him, “You truly believe you are lucky to die?”
Roman looks intently at Mr. Baker. His response is, “This is all far from over.”
“But you still killed her?” Mr. Gray Baker asks Roman. Strauss gives Mr. Baker a kiss behind the ear. Gray Baker is an important character to follow.
Roman Strauss is then taken away.
There is commotion as Strauss walks down the hall to face his death. At the end of the hall, Roman raises his hand. As he brings it down, he shouts, “These are for you.”
The past is very Film Noir and Gothic, [In opening, an inside joke, the date 12/10/49, it is Kenneth Branagh’s birthday]. The film has the influences such as Laura by Preminger, Wells, and Hitchcock’s Rebecca. The ideas of hypnosis, regression and reincarnation scared other directors away from making this film. With the script by Scott Frank [later to write the screenplay for "Get Shorty," "Minority Report," "Marley & Me," "The Wolverine," plus others], in the “Dead Again” script, there is an undercurrent of humor, and a flow into the dark side.
When we enter the present, a woman wakes up screaming. Camera switches to the classic Gothic gates, a la Citizen Kane, with a large G-Clef in the center where the iron gates close. [Remember the G-clef]. She is staying at a Catholic Orphanage. The priest wants her out. The kind nun caring for her argues she has no place to go. He gives her the name Mike Church. Tells her to contact him. He owes the priest favors. An good, honest name for a P.I. whose haunt is LA, he drives a red, convertible sports car. His main focus is missing persons. He accepts the case of the mysterious screaming woman [Emma Thompson]. First thing he discovers is she has amnesia and is unable to speak.
A stranger shows up at Mike’s door the day he has placed an ad hoping someone will know who the screaming woman is. He is a hypnotist who wants to help Mike discover her identity. He tries some hypnosis, to Mike’s objections, but almost immediately gets some results. She screams out some words, then reverts back to being unable to speak.
The hypnotist, Franklyn Madson, [Derek Jacobi], offers his assistance. Mike brings his mystery woman to the “Laughing Duke,” an antique shop where Madson hypnotizes his clients to locate antiques while he has them under. Mike wants to see if he will be able to help solve the mystery of her amnesia, her inability to speak, and what exactly are her nightmares.
While under hypnosis she begins having what appear to be flashbacks. She is taken to taken to the past where she begins remembering Roman Strauss with his wife Margaret. It is as if she were actually there with him. Her descriptions come from the effects of the hypnosis. She talks of Roman and Margaret’s wedding and of their careers. Margaret’s is flourishing while Roman’s struggling with his career in the US. He tries to compose his own music but it isn’t coming and offers to score films aren’t successful either. His music is too good. He had to leave his homeland in Europe. He was ill and his wife died. His personal housekeeper, Inga and her son, Frankie, were able to get him to the States successfully.
At the reception, Margaret has a talk with Inga and Frankie. She reminded them they were to have moved their living quarters to another part of the mansion before the wedding. Inga questions her, saying that Mr. Strauss had not asked them to. Margaret made it clear she was now Roman’s wife and it made no difference, they must listen to her.
Roman is madly in love with Margaret. For their marriage, he gives her a special gift, an anklet. Moments later, Madson brings her out of the trance. While he is talking to Mike, she speaks, asking for a glass of water. All are thrilled. Madson is all excited about what came out of the trance. He shows them a Life magazine with photos of the marriage of Roman Strauss and to his wife Margaret. The mystery woman looks a great deal like Margaret. Her amnesia is still very much intact and is confused by it all.
The hypnosis continues with Mike joining in by going under, both are bringing up effective results, and some revelations are very unusual. The strongest memory coming from the screams in her nightmares. They involve the murder of a pianist, Margaret, by her husband Roman Strauss in late 1948. After this result, when the session is finished for the day, Madson calls out to a voice, saying, “In a moment, mother.”
Mike takes her to see Cozy Carlisle [Robin Williams], a former psychiatrist, but lost his license. After Mike explains the session she just had, the Doc tells them it sounds like past life regression. “Sometimes a trauma in a past life can lead you to a trauma in a present life.” “Karma. You burn someone in a past life they turn around and burn you in this life.”
Some simple memories return to her, but nothing substantial. Mike gets some help from his friend, Pete [Wayne Knight] at the newspaper, who placed the first ad. And Mike starts looking into the story of Roman Strauss through old copies of newspapers, specifically the articles, which there are a plethora, written by Mr. Gray Baker [Andy Garcia]. She says “Hello” to Pete. He thinks her voice is great.
Mike takes her out to eat at a beach café, where they start to bond. He pretends to read the tea leaves for her. This is a fun scene, and when he christens her “Grace.” Rain starts shortly there after, and a romantic moment unfolds.
Weirdos keep coming out of the woodwork, trying to confuse “Grace’s” recovery. But the work with Madson, the hypnotist continues. Time to travel back in time to Roman and Margaret. The excitement keeps building from frame to frame, scene to scene, and reel to reel. The past is just as enthralling as the present.
Fitting the pieces together in the past of Roman and Margaret, leads back into the present with Mike and “Grace.” What do they have to do with the other? Is there any connection between Margaret and “Grace?” And what about Mike Church? How does he fit into any of this?
It is a finely designed film, with heightened emotions building up as piece by piece everything eventually falls together. You need to allow the tension to build and the mind to be free of any preconceived notions of what you think is real and possible. Do not forget any characters. The script is so tightly written and played out, every nuance is important to remember. I have seen the film “Dead Again” multiple times. It holds me spellbound every time.
Keep the past fresh in your mind as you watch the present unfolding. Watch out for the danger. Trust no one. Suspect everyone. There is a scene, I promise, I won’t give it away. I will just say you will make a face and go, “Wwwwhhhhhoooooaaaaa!!!” Not sure if that is the exact sound everyone will make.
My favorite line of the film is: “Well, I, for one am very interested in seeing what is going to happen next.”
Emma Thompson is magnificently strong as Margaret and brilliantly delicate, blowing the audience away as “Grace.” It was my first Emma Thompson experience. I didn’t know her at all. I fell in love at first site and continue to love her today. She is an exceptional actor and screenwriter.
Kenneth Branagh is exceptionally tender, plus scary as Roman Strauss and gently forceful, as well as a persistent protector as Mike Church. Kenneth had another extremely important role, he is the Director of “Dead Again.” So, he played a German composer, an American P.I., directed the film “Dead Again,” and he is excellent in all the parts he undertook.
A very dynamic duo, Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branagh. Where were the Awards? There should have been awards. Plus they are British doing the roles of three Americans and one German.
These were my theatre days, when I just picked out a film that sounded good. Choosing “Dead Again,” what a perfect decision. It didn’t just sound good, it is a fantastic film. Edge of the seat from the first scene until the very last moment. I give this 5***** stars out five.
This movie is from the 1990′s. Every aspect is excellent from the script, its direction, performances, music, editing, it grabs hold of you and lifts you up into the ride of your life. Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson, [when “Dead Again” was made, Kenneth and Emma were husband and wife], played two roles in the past and two roles in the present. Past and present required separate clothing designs, hairstyles, and British accents turned into American for both and one character in German for Kenneth. The jewel on top was their parts were of two people in love and destined to be together forever.
I love “Dead Again” from the second the projector starts rolling the very first time. Every second of it a ride through a thriller, love story, character development, and a lasting treasure.
Kenneth Branagh as Roman Strauss / Mike Church Emma Thompson as Grace / Margaret Strauss Andy Garcia as Gray Baker Derek Jacobi as Franklyn Madson Wayne Knight as ‘Piccolo’ Pete Dugan Hanna Schygulla as Inga Campbell Scott as Doug Robin Williams as Doctor Cozy Carlisle
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 10th December 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
private writings to dr. annie haskell, psychoanalyst extraordinaire,
my choice in form of storytelling is using letters with dreams, thoughts, poems, images,
music, art, describing my scripts, recent one ‘brief sacrifice,’ film is waiting for release,
psychotherapy, psychoanalysis, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner & outer workings
of the mind, soul, body, emotions, and bipolar—prefer mentally creative, or interesting,
or a brain misfiring; in the mix are abuse, crashes, near drownings, illegal drugs presently,
hallucinations, hypersexuality, time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuations,
imagination, fantasy, the never ending need to discover my self, my soul, my eternal serenity, my bliss
see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor
HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM THE TAYLOR-ANDREWS CLAN
Private Writings: Chapter #38 — Dream Scribers
Tuesday 3rd June 2008
I want to go into what we talked about today, as close to the words we used as possible. It is a matter of my remembering accurately what we said & what I remember we said. To see how close I am to recalling what is real & imagined.
The first thing I did was read my last letter to you. It described something metaphysical happening, yet it was real sexually but it felt so spiritual. Our bodies blended into one. Scottie felt like me & I felt like I was her. How is that possible? It felt exactly the way I described it. When Scottie touched me I felt she was within my body touching outward. When I touched her skin it felt like my fingers were touching an angel. My hand passed through her flesh into spirit. Pure energy. If that makes any sense at all.
That sounds metaphysical to me, not on an intellectual level, but within the power of deeper magic.
I am going to try to write what I heard you say to me.
“Relax Madison. Close your eyes & follow my voice. Breathe deeply. Let the air fill your lungs. Let your lungs fill your entire body as though they were your body. Feel the air touch the furthest points of your extremities. Let your breathe cleanse throughout your entire body.”
“Feel the sensations of your breathe touching you. Let the air become the touch of Scottie’s hands. The touch is innocent. It is purity allowing your flesh to receive her gentle touch. All other sensations of touch are drifting away. They cannot harm you. Only Scottie’s hands & flesh are touching you.”
“Let all other thoughts & feelings from other people be released from your awareness. Let them float away from you. They are going far, far away, never to return. Only the touch of Scottie & the people you trust will be allowed into your awareness. The purity of touch will be from those you accept into your area of safety. All else will leave you, never to return. Your safe place belongs to you. No one may enter without your permission.”
“Breathe in. Don’t forget to breathe & then release the pain. Release the memories from the past. They may not want to let go easily. But push them far away. Make them move away from you. Release them. Let them go. Only feel the goodness of touch from Scottie & others with whom you trust & love.”
“Keep taking in deep breathes & feel Scottie near you. Feel Jonathan near you. Only those people you trust. Feel my hugs when we are comforting you & when we are saying goodbye at the end of a session. You have returned & you are back in my care. You are safe here with me. Only good people can come into this room to spend time with you here.”
“The one’s you want to release shall be banned. We will only talk about them but they will be allowed to enter in your safe place. If they try, they will be told to leave. They are not wanted here with you & me. Scottie can enter. Only people you want to enter can come into this space. They are the only ones who are welcome. Now breathe in some really deep breaths. Hold each one for the count of five & then release. Keep breathing in & release”
“When I start to count backwards from ten I want you to return slowly, to become more alert with each number.”
“Ten. It is time to start feeling your body centering in this room.”
“Nine. Feel your arms & legs coming back to your senses.
“Eight. Feel your back straightening out & feel the sensations traveling up your spine.”
“Seven. Feel the center of your abdomen awakening to your awareness.”
“Six. Feel the sensations of the center of all your deep sensual feelings awaken.”
“Five. Feel your chest expanding with air as you take in each breath.”
“Four. Feel your heart beating in your chest & warming your body.”
“Three. Feel your shoulders let go of the weight of the world. They are loosening up.”
“Two. Feel your facial muscles stretching in a smile. Open your mouth wide & stretch the muscles that surround your lips, nostrils & forehead.”
“One. Start to open your eyes slowly. As you open them, gradually open them to stretch out your forehead further. Take a nice deep breathe & release any residual tensions you may be feeling.”
Your relaxation exorcism really gets rid of the darkness. Any that may be lingering are chased away with your words. They feel your strength transporting from you into to me & through me. The evil is vanquished & I feel freer inside & all around me.
I feel the goodness of having Scottie around me & near. Making love with her was the freeing of my soul into pure heightened awareness and sensual & sexual energy, unblocked from the demons that held my senses captive.
We did all of this today but did not have time for the dream I had last night. I meant to tell you about it, but there was so much we both needed to say & do, there was no time. I will tell you now. It may not be as clear as it was when I first woke up from dreaming, but I will be as accurate as possible.
When I woke up early this morning, I realized I had the most disturbing dream. The location was at one of my parents stores. People were standing around inside this huge red building. The doors, which were the size of almost the whole front of the building, were wide open. I was floating above them all & wondering what these people were waiting for. It was then I realized, they were waiting for my father to bring the products these people wanted. In this case, it was computers. The odd thing was, they were expecting my parents to take care of them, like slaves. Suddenly, it came to me, the realization that my parents were never coming. A flash flooded by mind with an awareness they weren’t just not coming. I remembered in my dream, my parents both were dead.
A friend appeared a moment later from my childhood. A woman I was once in love with & extremely attracted to. I haven’t seen her in years. For some reason her parents’ penthouse was connected to the NYC store on Fifth Avenue & I had my own room there. In the room there were two older model TV sets.
The dream jumped back to the huge store. A party had developed. All the people that attended were from the elite of society, just like the people who were customers in the stores my family owned. I remember the one in NYC, from when I was a kid. All of them are dead now.
In the dream, I was flying above them. I felt like a snob but I was reacting to their snobbery. I began going around singing a lamentation which was on the more joyful side then sad. The authorities came to close up the NYC store. To lock it up for good. I became very angry and yelled at him that this place once belonged to my grandfather and had been in the family since the 1700s. In my mind it didn’t seem fair that this was being closed up and taken away from the rest of my family.
Somewhere inside of me, I, somehow, felt the family business should have been continued by someone in our family. I started having memories of the NYC store and saw it vanish before my eyes. That is when once again I would have the realization that my parents were dead.
The family business is gone now, bought up by a corporation. Our family home where we grew up in the suburbs is gone, too. It had been demolished after my mother’s death. All of my childhood that was solid has been lost. How do I feel about this??? I forced myself to wake up early. My dream had turned into a nightmare about dead people & the past. One thing, I think is important, I forgot to mention it. I kissed my friend & hugged her. It was good but also strangely awkward.
One last memory in the dream, was a body of water. A huge river or pond, that had a yacht club on the water’s edge. There were dinner settings & party settings. That’s when I woke up & the dream ended.
I have no clue what it means except that it is telling me my parents are dead & they left nothing behind. Everything that was them has vanished as though it never existed except the nightmares which fill my dreams on a regular basis.
Not a very romantic way to return from a place of dreams & love. I feel we should have stayed in Paris. If we didn’t have a life back here to return to, I think it would have happened. A life making dreams into films & giving people those fantasies to enjoy. Home is where the creativity happens. Those past places that live only in my nightmares, feel like they are just nightmares & have no connection to me. They are from someone else’s life. There only value now is to be what fuels my writings, poems & paintings.
From now on my past is just that, something that passed away into a zone of death along with the treacherous vampires who sucked at my soul but claimed only a portion of nothing. My blood & flesh weren’t free. Their flesh shall burn in the fires of their own self-created hell. The deeds of evil shall eat at their brains & consume their soulless putrid carcasses. The darkness will not redeem them but will weigh them down into the lowest levels of the dark. They will walk amongst the foulness of evil for eternity.
What makes these proclamations escape my mind to be written on this page? It is a messenger trying to console me. To be set free, I must know what is being separated from my past, that has haunted me through out my childhood & up until now. They are removed & with all care, be prevented from returning. It is not to say they won’t try to escape their capture, trying to cause the haunting again. But all precautions are being taken. Guardian angels give me protection. Safety surrounds me & keeps them away with their power. I know nothing is infallible. One must be diligent to watch for anything appearing negative or unusual. It will be dispersed as quickly as it is possible.
It is time to rest. Dream some good dreams. One’s that present clues to mysteries one is seeking answers to.
So, I will rest & let go of time for a while. Let the moments for rest reach inside of me.
It is time for the ending of this convoluted letter filled with some confusion. We will sort it out in our next session. Now it is the occasion for the moments of time to enter in.
One last thing I want to tell you before I close, I want to write to you or tell you in person, exactly what I feel about you. How you make me feel inside. You are really special to me. My feelings are getting stronger. But at this moment I don’t feel I have the energy to tell you the truth. Maybe I need to work up my courage first. So I will let my feelings become more clear before I go any further in expressing them out in the open. Time to bring this to an end for today.
Now for my closing line from “Brief Sacrifice.”
“Time can be folded and joined with all elements in all places as the one ultimate moment when time is all at once. In this place everything happens on a continual loop following into a continuum of time forever into infinity. In the “Silver Box,” there is contained the ability to draw time into itself and create the perfect infinite moment.”
“The moment between seconds.”
For you, I will end this letter in “the moment between seconds.”
In the Night Colors Flow In Black & White
Stream of Consciousness Poem
By Madison Taylor
3rd June 2008
WARNING GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN POETIC FORM
In the night colors flow in black and white until the wilder dreams begin showing harm reaching out its hand to touch what does not belong near the hurt this hand implies it is a strangers hand meant to touch in secret parts that are hidden in the dark away from the light we will work out how to prevent the strangers who are friends with the authority figure who controls what is said or done any choices are made by him to destroy the will of the innocent and corrupt the beauty of the rosebud locked together waiting for the sun to open her up when the right moment is within calling out to see the surroundings if they are not safe what is the rosebud to do it is not safe it is time to run away into the woods to guard the secret of life and feelings sensations locked within the walls not meant for the ugly to awaken before the time has come the moon is out and snow is falling how can this be so especially since winter is not expected for two more seasons after the Indian corn has been harvested the colors released from their surprise hiding underneath the protective covering it keeps them virgins until the time to reveal has been reached when all is ready to be seen and ripened to perfection the color then will be ready to be seen and touched and chosen by the seers who see the beauty who do not want to steal away the innocence making the blood to flow revealing she is not born yet to the world hiding in dreams what has been taken before now in secret when no one was looking or protecting her safety from the perverse pedophiles hanging around waiting for the moment to strike out at the unknowing unsuspecting child with lack of knowledge to protect herself the parents do not want her to have the facts of sex fearing she will be sexual but instead raped over and over again and many times more before she is even able to speak the word rape it is a powerful and a dangerous act to survive for shame has now possessed the soul whose blood is broken with the bread which is the body crucified by strangers whose father knows them and consents to their taking his daughter and raping her so the father will feel satisfied and he does not have to break her in when it is his time to take a piece of her when he is ready to beat her until she gives in to his temptation and his wife turns a blind eye for she is as bad with her brutality beating the flesh till it bruises and bleeds like the insides have been opened up as well as if she had for her sexual attraction to her own daughter she is as sadistic as a masochistic surrenders her body for the whip to hit and the sores to swell up and the crying not to cease until the pain is more painful than the crying can cry for it had gone far beyond the acceptable a long time ago yet it continues as an expected ritual of ripping the flesh apart and when it comes time to ask for forgiveness the young child must kneel in supplication to the adult female once called the woman who gave forth this child from within her own body but for what purpose if not to be a slave to her every whim of wickedness let the abuse begin it is a bull fight to see who sticks her first each with their own kind of weapon to injure her body with shame and pain which grows over the years as the years grow the child into a child woman who has no idea who she is and what she is and what she should do with her life now that life has happened to her and she feels it is time to take life and call it over and cut open her veins or take a bottle of pills anyway to stop the noise in her head and the images of all the brutality her body has experienced in a silent witness environment but no one accepts anything happened they go about their lives thinking everything was just what happens in childhood beatings and rapes and starvation and using food to punish and using anything to punish and no praise for the achievements though these are how the child survives the torture and finds joy and lost in the words and music she finds around her to comfort her and help her make it through the silent pain no one else can hear except when she finds a therapist to spill her words out to but even she cannot stay for long no one seems to stay long those who she needs to help her heal now she is doing it on her own and she had found traitors and good ones who give her the support she needs and help her to heal in disguise they are in a costume that looks comforting but it is a lie and she must run from the lie to a truth she can understand and trust and she does find this truth and it is good and she will begin to heal now and she can write down her stories so she will someday be remembered when someone else needs saving and there is no one there to help her maybe her words will be what rescues the next child who finds they have fallen into her story and their way out is to read their story and her story from out of her bravery she found the words to release her story into the world it is the beginning again for her and those who find her story and are rescued and begin their life at the beginning the way the little girl has done with her words that rescued her too
All we see & seem is but a dream within a dream
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Create On Saturday 17th August 2013
Posted On Wednesday 21st August 2013 Lightness of Being
A Sleeper’s Fantasy — Artist Josephine Wall
Are we a dream within a dream? Is matter solid? No, actually it isn’t. The debate of reality as being all in someone’s imagination. Matter is made up of atoms. It’s a vibration that somewhere in our consciousness we give an image to matter. Do our minds trick us? Quantum Physics has the answers. Someone is controlling it all in something that we would call a matrix. Planck came up with the idea and from out of his thoughts came the theory behind the film The Matrix. Listen carefully to this video. It is the mind bending I use to do in between classes in college, where we would talk about the existence of the Universe and existence itself.
Sometimes You Just Feel Invisible
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrations of Family Companion Animals
Photographs by Shawn MacKenzie
Post Created Wednesday 17th July 2013
Posted On Saturday 20th July 2013 X-Treme Haiku Saturday
Schroeder-the Jekyll & Hyde of Cats-kisses & snuggles switching instantaneously to bites & growls. And then there’s Saki-our Amazon Parrot-my protector-she bites me when she thinks I am in danger. OUCH!!! One of her satisfactions is when she imitates Snoopy on his Sopwith Camel dive-bombing The Red Baron-in this instance replace TRB with Shawn-cannot get near me when Saki is sitting on my shoulder or near me in anyway. A true love/hate relationship with Shawn-who gives her peanut treats whenever Saki asks. Now look at the love between S & S. It is a labour of love. In this photograph-Saki has only just started to fly over to us. Her life before us was trauma filled & neglect. Loved Shawn first but switched over to me. Now we are symbiotic & copacetic. We share everything-Food-Love & Snuggles. I get an Heroic Protector who sleeps/eats/sits/snuggles/dances on me when I write or do anything. A Love Note for My Two Favorite Cuddlers. Kisses-Jk [One of Their Two Mums] ps. I am not Invisible to them. They need me as I need them & want me in their lives.
Sometimes You Just Feel Invisible
By Jennifer Kiley
17th July 2013
Sometimes you just feel
Invisible no sight no
Depth of shape no dimensions
Vision forward moves
Past forgotten locked in lost
Memories committed done
Frozen locked in time
Tripping tricking psyche deep
Confusion delusions thoughts
“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?” ― John Lennon
“I don’t paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.” ― Frida Kahlo
“I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I’m not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares.” ― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves
“There are many who don’t wish to sleep for fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who don’t wish to wake for the same fear.” ― Richelle E. Goodrich, Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher
“You learned to run from what you feel, and that’s why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control.” ― Megan Chance, The Spiritualist
“My sleep wasn’t peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone.” ― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay
QUOTATIONS on DREAMS:
“I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.” ― Stephenie Meyer, Twilight
“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.” ― Eleanor Roosevelt
“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.” ― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
“People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.” ― Neil Gaiman
“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.” ― Arthur O’Shaughnessy, Poems of Arthur O’Shaughnessy
“A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.” ― John Lennon
“You know that place between sleeping and awake, that place where you can still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always think of you.” ― J.M. Barrie
“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.” ― Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol
“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” ― Rose Kennedy
“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.” ― Eric Roth, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button screenplay
“Time is what we want most,but what we use worst.” ― William Penn
“Time is an illusion.” ― Albert Einstein
“You may delay, but time will not.” ― Benjamin Franklin
“Time is a game played beautifully by children.” ― Heraclitus, Fragments
DreamWeaver’s Corner with Dr. Niamh Clune is the place to visit if you want to learn the real truth about dreams. How to communicate with your soul through the symbols that come from the unconscious when you dream. There have been several posts so far that take you through many elements about dreams that you may have thought you knew but this is a whole different way of looking at what dreams really are. “We should not fear our images or emotions, even though they threaten to overwhelm us. This is the stuff of the unconscious…”Follow this reblog back to On The Plum Tree and read the most recent DreamWeaver’s Corner and if you find intriguing what you discover then investigate further to see previous posts of DreamWeaver’s Corner with Dr. Niamh Clune. While you are there you will also discover a wonderful source of creativity of all kinds. Investigate and find the artistic and magical and mystical. I highly recommend On The Plum Tree. I visit there all the time. Do take the time. You will value the opportunity and find art and enlightenment all at the same time. Jk the secret keeper
What is the magic of indwelling and what do I mean by that?
Dream language is symbol, metaphor, aphorism, expressed in images. Paradox is in-woven, threaded through every aspect of the image, the colour, atmosphere and quality. A dreamed or meditative image often shape-shifts. Understanding should be exciting and challenging, part of personal growth and self-discovery. Such images are Ariadne’s Threads leading us deep within Psyche into subterranean, unexpressed feelings and emotions.
For example: a bogey-man chasing us might be terrifying. We cannot run, escape or hide. A later visit to that image might, however, yield a moment of catharsis or enlightenment. This is where indwelling comes in. We cannot achieve a deep understanding of our image through observation or deduction. Only by entering into the soul of the image might we achieve recognition. Returning to an image consciously, we re-enter the moment of the dream, its raison d’etre, on…
Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Posting 03.19.13
Posted Weekly Early Tuesday Morning
Chapter #7 Posted 30th April 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life
Tuesday, November 13th, 2007
I must bring this to your immediate attention. Last week, when I wrote to you in our usual letter, I included a poem. It was a raw and painful poem to write. I would really like to discuss some of it with you in this letter. I hope you don’t mind. It has been making me feel rather vulnerable, even though I haven’t sent you the letter yet. Someday, any day, might be when I do get brave enough and really write these letters with the direct expectation of mailing them to you or handing them to you in person. The second way would make me feel more assured that you received the letters personally and no one else touched them or might accidentally open them. I don’t think anyone at the counseling center would ever do something like that intentionally. But these are very private letters meant for your eyes only. Just thinking about discussing the poem I wrote is making me feel rather anxious. In fact, I feel like I am starting to have a panic attack. Let me take a Klonopin before we continue. After that I will post the poem and the paragraph that followed it. I want to discuss that along with the poem. I’ll be right back.
Here I am, back really quickly. It will only take about 15 minutes for the med to take effect. Well, here goes, this is the poem once again appearing in one of my letters I am writing to only you. If I ever give these letters to you, I must have your word that you will never ever show these to anyone else. No one must know what I am telling you. These have to be our secret. If you only knew how I feel inside.
How do I really feel about you Annie? Right now, I have no idea. Too afraid to go inside to find out what I truly feel. The whole of the world confounds me. It just makes me feel depressed. It just feels that I can’t hold onto the people I love. They just tend to die. It’s not like they’re even old. When you die in your twenties, I would call that dying “Forever Young.” Too many die FY. You’re not going to do that, are you Annie?
What do you think of my poem? If you read it now, how would you decipher it? I’ll play both of us. You go first, or should I? Let me pull out the first three lines. The writer, the lover, the thinker: isn’t something missing? Whose feeling anything? The lover is just sexual. You can do that without any feelings at all. The writer is mental but could be emotional with the words they are expressing. But I don’t think so. It’s cerebral. The thinker, existential separation anxiety filled with analytical theorizing until infinity gets exhausted.
Someone is missing. Someone who connects in a soulful way with people or animals. Who is that? Lets think about it. Send out feelings to find out who they are? You think a spiritualist. I thought I was one of those people. I believe in the spirit, the soul, the astral body, the separation from the physical. The soul is just carrying the weight of the body while its heart beats and air fills its lungs and the grey matter still is able to function to make the physical tissues of the body perform.
I was thinking tonight about Heaven Annie. As I made it up the stairs to bed and my cat always raced up the stairs before me. We play that game every night. I make believe I’m going to beat him tonight. It’s always the challenge. There’s no way in Hell that I can ever beat him. But he loves the game. You want to know his name? He goes by many. He has such a magnificent personality. We call him Sparky because he sparks like fireworks. It’s not his official name. That one is proper. We named him Higgins after the character in the great Broadway play Pygmalion. He responds to anything but Higgins and he rather prefers being called Sparky.
What the Hell are we talking about? Is it about making it through with some enjoyment and to try to forget about all the nightmares? Or are we suppose to face the nightmares? The soul tells me that we have to or we won’t make it. I have too many. How about you? What are your bad dreams? What tried to fuck you up? Any bad people in your dreams? You seem pretty together but anyone can put a mask on. Why do you suppose we all try to hide from everyone? We are all human. Our feelings fall somewhere into the human category. Are we afraid people will think we are crazy or too weird?
Back to the poem, the next three lines are pretty explosive. Feeling the fool for not hearing, the silence for not screaming and feelings trying to blow the whole thing wide open but being stopped somehow. What stopped me? You probably would like to know that. A good reason, how about one of the abusers threatened to kill me right at the moment I told him if he didn’t stop I would go to the police. Wrong thing to say to a nasty, mean pedophile. He tried to kill me but he stopped at just making me feel he was going to crush my head into stones like Stonehenge. He pulled back but not until he told me he would not only kill me but my whole family. Those other people who also abused me. For some reason I felt I needed to protect them. I didn’t care if he killed me. My life was ruined. They all in combination destroyed who I am. They crushed my life. I am dead. My spirit has been stolen from me. It’s like in Peter Pan, they stole my shadow, my reflection. I don’t have one any longer. I am invisible. That’s why no one can see me. Why I never get noticed except when someone wants to hurt me or make me feel more pain so that I really do want to be invisible. I just wanted to die.
The only reason I stayed alive was I loved my grandmother. The funny thing about it all, my grandma, she had an accident shortly after this and went into the hospital. She never went home again. I saw her once at the hospital. I climbed into her hospital bed with her. Under the oxygen tent, we hugged. I held her so close. Her arms used her strength, as much as she could and held me close. Then it was time to go. I gave a bunch of kisses to say goodbye to her. I didn’t know I would never see her alive again.
She died in protest. They wanted her to become one of the forgotten. She wasn’t going to let them do that to her. She told them that it was something she would never do, going to a nursing home. She stopped her breathing and her heart from beating. She left me behind. I stopped living when she stopped, too.
“The feelings trying to explode…Where was the awareness?” I was clueless on what or who to, if anyone, to talk to. I never talked to anyone back then. Words were not my companion when spoken out loud. Not something I even knew how to do. Didn’t know how. Had no practice. What would have been the right words to say anyway? I didn’t know them to say or to even write down on paper. I am only learning now how to connect my words with feeling.
“We say ‘Welcome to the surface.’ It should have been Welcome to the circus. “Now what needs to be done?” We need to find someone new that we can really talk to. Someone who will listen and really hear what we are saying. Not judge us. Try to understand. And not constantly criticize us and try to put us down. Diminish who we are. That’s been done all our life except in college. For some reason I mattered when I was in college. I felt important and wanted. The same happened when I was part of the Women’s Center when I lived in Connecticut. It’s not so much I want to feel important. I just want to feel like I matter. Everyone I think needs to feel important in some way.
“Releasing the energy ensnared for decades amongst twisted webs…” I have been so blocked. My thoughts and feelings didn’t have an outlet. And I didn’t know how to say the words. I was made my own prisoner eventually, out of fear. Demons possessed me with fear. All the demons from all the years of abuse and made to feel like I was nothing, a nobody that had no worth or purpose.
“The voice is seeking freedom but holding onto multiple secrets.” We have a central voice but we also have multiple voices. With all the alters, we have to listen to all their voices and all the needs they tell us that they have. It’s hard to keep track or remember. It is really confusing inside our head sometimes. But we were working with a woman therapist who had her moments of quality therapy but she had her problems. I have an obsessive alter who was in love with her and obsessed with her. Let’s call it quite dependent. We were attached. We needed her. She was the first therapist that figured out what was going on inside our head. She figured out the DID. I have to admit when she told us we has other personalities, it really freaked us out. Kind of went into shock and some heavy denial. No way could that be possible. She said the psychiatrist agreed with her after he tested me.
That was the big secret. We thought realizing we were Gay was enough of a shock but being MPD was more difficult. Coming out of that closet was worst. It took us a while before we could tell Scottie and we had been together for a long time at that point. Almost 15 years. When I found the courage to tell her, her reaction was: “Oh, I already knew.” I asked her why she didn’t tell me. “Because you needed to figure that out yourself.” Of course, she was right. It wasn’t easy. Like I usually do, I bought or borrowed every book I could find on the subject of MPD. I learned it all. Enough to get a degree.
There is so much more to discuss in this poem. I packed it with a great deal of exposure of my past. I need a break. I may try to answer more of the points in this letter or carry it over to the next letter.
It’s a list of some of the confusion that smashed into our life. It started when we were really little and didn’t stop. The abuse continued when we were adults. No was the word that meant nothing to anyone who wanted something from us. Our body betrayed us. We couldn’t stop anyone from forcing us. Some didn’t even realize they were forcing us but they were. If we shut down inside we became frozen. We couldn’t stop what was happening. This started when we were little and continued into our adult relationships. It was all on some degree of force. We weren’t there in our bodies. We left or went deep inside or floated on the ceiling until it was over.
It wasn’t consensual. It was a form of rape and abuse. We wanted love but not sex. We didn’t want to be sexually aroused because it would always end with us disappearing and our bodies would shut down. It was like turning the keys off in a car. The engine would stop running and so would we. Eventually we created an outside person, a human robot, who faked our life like a computer. She would accumulate data. And learned the expected behavior and that would be hos she would perform. We were safe inside while she was out there living a fake life as a fake person. A puppet represented us. She hid in plain sight. No one would find us with the puppet self having a controlled pattern of behavior, always asking questions to improve her performance do she wouldn’t be detected.
Our hiding place was discovered by this woman therapist. She saw through the facade. She was tricky and scary to us. She got to close. We started to care too much. She opened up the rawness in us. She made us need people. Specifically, she made us need her too desperately. We felt so close to her. But more like the fox in Le Petite Prince by Antoine de St. Exupery. She tamed part of our wildness. She made us want to be loved by her. Being loved and wanting to love in return puts such a control on you. I began to develop an overwhelming need for her. It was driving me mad. Everything started falling apart. My life felt out of control.
Our hiding place was revealed. There was no place to go except into madness and wanting to commit suicide. Suicide has always been a part of our life. It is a part of our breathing. It is always an alternative to the divine madness. We can escape that way any time we chose. But it is not an answer we can choose. Not with all that we are responsible for. Our life needs us to be in it. Everything has changed. We are learning to begin to live. We have found a purpose. It is delicate and sometimes difficult to balance but we are giving our new life all that we are able to give it. We know and are learning what we are able to do. We are able to write. We are able to be creative. Our artistic nature is starting to blossom. We are letting it be free. It likes that. It feels like are trusted to let the muse guide us. She always seems to be when we need her. We don’t push it. We let it be a natural flow. We like, no we love where we are now. It does have its difficulties with the mentally creative activities that bombard our brain. But we work hard on that more with our doc then with Mr. Xxx. He is about as helpful as a dead skeleton. His sense of warmth and communication I’d to tell stories that do not at all relate to what I am feeling or going through. He doesn’t help me at all except to give me reasons to escape my life. He lets me run away. I know I have my weaknesses but I need to find my life before I die or I kill myself because I can’t live with the confusion any longer or the depressions or rage.
I want to say that I am here and I want to stay alive. We want to be here. We choose life.
We fought through them trying to destroy us. They didn’t succeed. We are still alive. No matter how many battles. No matter how many nights we have to fight to make it alive til morning gets here. Therapy, knowing my psychoanalyst is there is so reassuring. It means at least one person is out there in our Universe that knows we are alive. That we exist. Being alive is a higher grade than just existing. The artist that lives inside of us makes it all matter. Otherwise, nothing else matters. If I didn’t have my art, my animals, the women I love and the men who are decent that I love. A good home and family who I love and who love me. The special people who know who they are. They are part of what make this life I live matter. But that involves some major time tripping. I am having visions of a future in my life, but I must be patient and wait for that time to happen. It is a good sign that I make it to that future. Others do not.
Here in 2007 I have you Annie. I am focusing on that. Your presence is beginning to mean something more to me than I even understand at this moment. We will see where that takes us.
Until next time.
ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst.
Somewhere In Time – John Barry
By Madison Taylor
Give your soul an awakening
Listen quietly through the inspiring music
Enter the encouraging words
The ideas arise from their varied meanings
What is most on your mind
What is churning up your insides
Needing to be talked about
Preferably released from your mind
Where trapped are the feelings
That the thoughts are made of in the silence
Love is an all-consuming obsession
Filling the spaces in between
Every break of thought
To throw off the concentration
So many who feel love from inside their heart
They died or disappeared
Called away from their lives abruptly
You could say they had a calling
A calling not dealing with fairness
Or consideration for the pain
Created from their loss
Investing in vulnerability
Rips out the heart
Tears it like dogs with a pile
Of meaningless thrown away leftovers
The heart has been a left over piece of flesh
Good for a treat
For a hungry mouth
But for love an empty plate
Starving the hungry for tenderness and love
Wanting to be held in a warm hug
Being caressed with a slow gentleness
Giving time to be caught up to the touch
Of a lover who wants to feel safe and secure
Willing to wait until you’re where the love making is
To be part of what is happening
Slowing down when the touching starts moving too fast
Needing a caress slow making you feel
They realize you are there
And want to be there
Part of making the love work
You want to be part of it
Participating in all the feelings of touch
Reaching all the plateaus
Together with your partner
Knowing your partner is with you
Wants to be with you
While you arrive at the high together
Coming down together slowly after
Feeling the rippling through your bodies together
Melting bodies drifting into relaxation
Followed by the wonders of secure arms
Drifting off together into the dream of sleep
Contented that a wish has found a way at last
To be realized.
The labyrinth called “Wandering Wonderland.” It is where Madison, Scottie and their cats, Patrick, Mikey and Toker love to escape to
Madison’s “woods of imagination” where she takes long walks to reflect. It starts just past the labyrinth
QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings
The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor
“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”
“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist
“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe
QUOTATIONS on LIVING:
“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame…” — Jack London
“There are two kinds of people. One kind…they congealed into their final selves…you can expect no more surprises from them…the other kind keep moving, changing… They are fluid. They keep moving forward and making new trysts with life, and the motion of it keeps them young. In my opinion, they are the only people who are still alive…” ― Gail Godwin
Absolutely brilliant material. Learning so much from reading your DreamWeaver’s Corner. I am reblogging. Going to take my mini dissertation with me. Thank you for your insight and for sharing it with all of us. Love this post especially. The House is kind of scary but it is worth the journey into the collective unconscious. Very Cool. jk the secret keeper
I add this as something that I wrote on the blog site where I follow On The Plum Tree & DreamWeaver’s Corner & all the other special creative treats one finds there…DreamWeaver’s Corner: Imagine the Psyche is like a House What is hiding in the cavern of dusty decaying remnants of the unconscious? We join with the collective which must have been around since the beginning of time. So the wisdom that is contained within the darkness must be infinite also. Our life must have added to the collective, bringing in a freshness to mix amongst the remnants of the infinite. All our lives are connected to this place in the farthest reaches of this ancient enclosure. Is it where the dark feeds and re-energizes? And when nightmares frighten us. They resurrect from this darkness and feed our sleeping minds with their collective pieces of memory or symbols.
This may seem like a strange question. The collective is the unconscious and is joined as one unconscious. Then theoretically my nightmares or life experiences that are stored away in my unconscious join the collective unconscious. Blending all unconsciousness into the one, the collective. So when I dream, my soul is drawing on the symbols accumulated form everyone’s unconscious. Does this mean the collective unconscious assimilates all perceptions? That they are converted into symbols so that all can draw from the collective unconscious contributed to by all in the conscious world? All experience is eventually converted and stored in the unconscious and filtered back into the collective unconscious.
So, I conclude this dialectic that we are all connected through the collective unconscious. All experience that is stored away eventually ends up as symbols of the collective unconscious. The symbols in our dreams which our souls bring forth to the conscious mind which we can choose to analyze, will enable us to communicate with the soul. By doing this it enables us to communicate with the collective unconscious. Is this too convoluted or have I understood how this tentatively works?
If I have gone too far or seem too out there just say so. My mind gets way too analytical. The point is to connect to the collective unconscious and the symbols stored there in order that we may communicate with the soul and, also, to release the darkness that haunts us. Lastly, to be able to release the mess that has accumulated and is preventing us from releasing our emotions through feelings. When this is done we will be freeing our self to experience life more fully and actually feel life.
I do not expect you to answer this but i think I wrote my way through understanding some of what you have been writing in your DreamWeaver’s Corner.
Thank you for such a profound way of describing how one should see the layers that lead to the collective unconscious. Absolutely Brilliant Niamh. I think I am getting it. Now I just need to allow my soul to bring to me the symbols. I feel she is beginning to do that. I want to understand and be able to release my emotions through my feeling them. It would be such a freedom to be able to express them freely again, the way I did as a child before those around me shut me down along with my emotions.
That was a catharsis of sorts, more mental than emotional but a little of that also. Once again, TY Niamh. Mine blowing material. :-) jk
The upper story is modern, bright. This is home to our consciousness and day-to-day reality. But wait! There is more. Descend the stairs with me to the ground floor to an older, darker floor. Imagine it furnished in medieval style. In these rooms, the personal unconscious is connected to cultural, mythic images that still influence today’s thinking and social mores. For example, the medieval Grail myth inspires the Hero’s journey, the personal quest – a recurrent theme classically expounded in much of our religion, film, art, and music.
Imagine a heavy door in the far wall, ornately carved with symbolism. Open it to discover a hidden room with walls that are made of stone. These are roman walls, dating back to when the house was originally constructed. Examining them, we discover how our collective memory is…