Visualizations in My Dream Kitchen: Where Dreams Are Formed and Cooked

I was handed a book, completely finished, bound, hard-covered. The old man that gave it to me, nodded his ancient white head, his rimless glasses perched on the edge of his nose, his eyes glistening in the semi-light.

Not exactly sure what the book contained, yet having a small thought of what it might be, I took the book and sat down on the bench at the long wooden table. The old man quietly evaporated in the still air as I opened the book’s cover.

Inside, I saw a list, topics of metaphysical merit and spiritual insight. It was a tome of philosophy, of the ancient variety, and my job, I saw in that moment, was to translate it into the vernacular of these times.

As I paged through the book, words stood out from the pages, like a road map moving me down a road I hadn’t know I would be treading.

As I neared the end, my intuition told me that, even though the book was solidly in my hands, I needed to remember as much of the basics as I could, because it would not remain in my possession for long.

As my eyes found the word finis on the last page, a curious smoke arose around the book, enveloping me and the table. I felt the solidity of the pages slip from my fingers and as the fog lifted, I was seated still at the table and the book was gone. No trace remained. I knew it was now up to me to recreate a modern version of what had been contained in that tome.

I arose, glancing around at all the shelves of books in the kitchen of my dreams, and headed for the door. Now it was time to find pen and paper and begin this next project, to incubate it and bring it to fruit, and see if it would feed others.
Jyoti