DREAMS

Islands in heaven — Acryl - 75 cm x 115 cm

An island in the sky — or perhaps a heaven reflected in the sea.
In this painting, water and air meet and form a landscape that feels otherworldly, yet not detached from the earth.

The shapes breathe, move, emerge.
They evoke islands of stillness in an unbounded awareness.
Between blue and green, a living silence unfolds.

From here, a new journey begins.
The dreams in this section no longer belong to the intense recovery phase after my stroke on January 22, 2025 — that period has been recorded in my blog.
What you read here are dreams that emerge after that initial confusion, after the physical and mental instability.
A different phase. A different state of awareness.
They mark a continuation — a journey of deepening, insight, movement.
Not to explain. But to preserve what reveals itself.

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THE NIGHT OF THE COMPROMISE

January 1, 2026

I dream that we are a peaceful people.
No conflict, no weapons.
A community where harmony feels natural.

But then, a delegate from another people appears.
He tells us that the land we live on once belonged to his people.
They have an old tradition: once a year, for one night, they return to this place to celebrate.
So far, it sounds like an innocent request.

But then he says something strange. Something forceful.
In their tradition, it is allowed — even required — to kill anyone with a birthmark.
Immediately. Without question.

Unrest arises. What do we do with this?

As a leader — or at least someone with authority in the dream — I feel that this question is mine to guide.
As if I’m not only part of this people, but also hovering above them, a silent observer.

After deliberation, we decide:
We agree.
For one night a year, we will all cover ourselves.
No visible skin. No recognizable faces.

That way, they can have their celebration — without any bloodshed.
We will transform this night into a national meditation night.
One evening a year, we all retreat into silence.

Everyone stays alive.
And by morning, the other people are gone again.

When I wake up, the dream lingers like a strange mix of peace and unease.
I feel how the compromise works. No one dies.
But at what cost?

And then the recognition dawns:
In this dream, I speak aloud what I rarely say in waking life.

That I often see the essence — the motives behind words, the psychological games —
but that I cannot name them. Not without causing conflict.
So I cover myself. Hold back.
I adapt.

And I ask myself:

– What happens in a society where essence becomes subordinate to politeness?
– What price do we pay for social harmony when this peace is bought with self-denial?
– When do I feel I must hide my face just to stay 'safe'?
– And what does that do to me, in the long run?

The dream offers no judgment. It simply shows a mechanism.
And maybe that's enough.
Not to change the world tomorrow,
but to notice where I make myself invisible —
and whether I still want to.

A gentle night. A quiet question.
What do you cover, to avoid disturbing the celebration?

DREAMS

Islands in heaven — Acryl - 75 cm x 115 cm

An island in the sky — or perhaps a heaven reflected in the sea.In this painting, water and air meet and form a landscape that feels otherworldly, yet not detached from the earth.

The shapes breathe, move, emerge.They evoke islands of stillness in an unbounded awareness.Between blue and green, a living silence unfolds.

THE NIGHT OF THE COMPROMISE

January 1, 2026

I dream that we are a peaceful people.No conflict, no weapons.A community where harmony feels natural.

But then, a delegate from another people appears.He tells us that the land we live on once belonged to his people.They have an old tradition: once a year, for one night, they return to this place to celebrate.So far, it sounds like an innocent request.

But then he says something strange. Something forceful.In their tradition, it is allowed — even required — to kill anyone with a birthmark.Immediately. Without question.

Unrest arises. What do we do with this?

As a leader — or at least someone with authority in the dream — I feel that this question is mine to guide.As if I’m not only part of this people, but also hovering above them, a silent observer.

After deliberation, we decide:We agree.For one night a year, we will all cover ourselves.No visible skin. No recognizable faces.

That way, they can have their celebration — without any bloodshed.We will transform this night into a national meditation night.One evening a year, we all retreat into silence.

Everyone stays alive.And by morning, the other people are gone again.

When I wake up, the dream lingers like a strange mix of peace and unease.I feel how the compromise works. No one dies.But at what cost?

And then the recognition dawns:In this dream, I speak aloud what I rarely say in waking life.

That I often see the essence — the motives behind words, the psychological games —but that I cannot name them. Not without causing conflict.So I cover myself. Hold back.I adapt.

And I ask myself:

– What happens in a society where essence becomes subordinate to politeness?– What price do we pay for social harmony when this peace is bought with self-denial?– When do I feel I must hide my face just to stay 'safe'?– And what does that do to me, in the long run?

The dream offers no judgment. It simply shows a mechanism.And maybe that's enough.Not to change the world tomorrow,but to notice where I make myself invisible —and whether I still want to.

A gentle night. A quiet question.What do you cover, to avoid disturbing the celebration?

An island in the sky — or perhaps a heaven reflected in the sea.
In this painting, water and air meet and form a landscape that feels otherworldly, yet not detached from the earth.

The shapes breathe, move, emerge.
They evoke islands of stillness in an unbounded awareness.
Between blue and green, a living silence unfolds.

I dream that we are a peaceful people.
No conflict, no weapons.
A community where harmony feels natural.

But then, a delegate from another people appears.
He tells us that the land we live on once belonged to his people.
They have an old tradition: once a year, for one night, they return to this place to celebrate.
So far, it sounds like an innocent request.

But then he says something strange. Something forceful.
In their tradition, it is allowed — even required — to kill anyone with a birthmark.
Immediately. Without question.

As a leader — or at least someone with authority in the dream — I feel that this question is mine to guide.
As if I’m not only part of this people, but also hovering above them, a silent observer.

After deliberation, we decide:
We agree.
For one night a year, we will all cover ourselves.
No visible skin. No recognizable faces.

That way, they can have their celebration — without any bloodshed.
We will transform this night into a national meditation night.
One evening a year, we all retreat into silence.

Everyone stays alive.
And by morning, the other people are gone again.

When I wake up, the dream lingers like a strange mix of peace and unease.
I feel how the compromise works. No one dies.
But at what cost?

And then the recognition dawns:
In this dream, I speak aloud what I rarely say in waking life.

That I often see the essence — the motives behind words, the psychological games —
but that I cannot name them. Not without causing conflict.
So I cover myself. Hold back.
I adapt.

– What happens in a society where essence becomes subordinate to politeness?
– What price do we pay for social harmony when this peace is bought with self-denial?
– When do I feel I must hide my face just to stay 'safe'?
– And what does that do to me, in the long run?

The dream offers no judgment. It simply shows a mechanism.
And maybe that's enough.
Not to change the world tomorrow,
but to notice where I make myself invisible —
and whether I still want to.

A gentle night. A quiet question.
What do you cover, to avoid disturbing the celebration?