The Secret Language of the Invisible Night

My Dear Ones,

For years, I have carried the habit of writing down my dreams, a recurring practice that belongs to a parallel world I live in. My days are divided between sunny days and starry nights, both realms filled with dreams. The ones of the day, I execute them with the rhythm of time that governs my biological body. The nocturnal and starry ones, I weave them to another beat. I walk a winding, intoxicating path, helping me understand what happens in my daylight world, making the invisible visible, an exercise that sharpens my intuition.

Within these dreams, I feel a breeze of soft and light emotions, sometimes creating surreal dualities, full of radiant energy. Other times, they are filled with mysterious melancholies—fragments of the past, landscapes of passion, overflowing emotions, laughter, tears. All these are joyous sensations, so complex, it seems impossible for one single dream to hold such a rhythm.

Thus, I trace my way out of the labyrinth of my hidden world, stepping backward to move faster. Tunnels, streets, carriages, ships, and tides leave behind clues—whispers of riddles that await my next awakening. Each night, I decipher its enigma, unraveling the mysteries of my waking uncertainties.

In these ventures, I wander into subworlds, through forests where trees murmur secrets, discovering fragments of myself in unfamiliar shapes. I observe, I craft with an enchanted, spellbound gaze. Along the way, mythical figures appear travelers, troubadours, gallant souls, princesses, and fearsome beasts. Some of them, hybrid creatures, visit with wise words and extraordinary strength, whispering answers that help me untangle riddles from distant galaxies configurations, agreements I must decipher with great agility. I take their words with ivory-tipped fingers, preserving them delicately, as they slip through and unravel into fine silk.

Other errant beings introduce sharper textures, speaking in uncommon tones, revealing cryptic insights into how I might decode the myths of my own reality. They leave me waking in disorientation, feeling as though I hold neither control nor power over this grand, chaotic symphony.

Water becomes an ambiguous stage, both revealing and regulating the temperature of my emotions. When it is murky, I must decipher the crystallized, imperceptible emotions within me. When it is pristine and pure, it heralds the construction of new realities and promising omens. In those moments, my soul smiles, my heart warm and soft, brimming with deep fulfillment.

There are spirits from this dream realm that traverse the waking world, shifting into abstract forms. I translate them into art, shaping their whispers into symbols. It is a vast and intricate language—curious, mysterious—that brings me ever closer to understanding my own being.

I send you a warm hug,
Thank you for reading me.