Eyes Closed

This series, "What I see with my eyes closed," might be like Borges short stories but in the form of pictures. Travel is the adventure, yes, living it in your dreams is quite a surprise when you start working allowing it to become a 2D image in light pixels.
It is like Forrest Gump realizing life is like a box of chocolates, you just do not know what you will get.
Whales, water, ships with sails, beach walking, finding yourself rolling out of bed onto the floor, Ambien is the culprit, I blame it. There is no sea in my bedroom.
Objects become real, sea horses, sea urchins, muscles hairy and black, toothpaste going back into the tube, lemonade flying like a pissy colored snowstorm, walking on water to reach the other side of the river made of perfectly raked pebbles, wabi-sabi messiness is perfectly alright, now you know for sure it is not real. Or maybe it is more real. Surreal is what I think it really is, depending upon what the meaning of that word is, is.

Instead of drinking or sniffing something lethal, I take the Beatles thought of letting it be. But, I do really suffer from insomnia. Deep thinking is what someone said I do. Deep feeling is more like the truth.
This is how I got to this point, my parents did not teach me what the Buddha said, "That all life is sorrowful." Gosh, I thought it was like riding a teacup, you turn that center wheel so fast and hard that you throw-up. You throw-up on your parents. They yank you out of there then take you home to take a nap and then the fun begins, again.
At night you say that prayer, again, if I should die before I wake; so you lay there and are afraid to close your eyes because you die.