The beginning of a dream starts in the quiet moments, when the world softens and the mind drifts. It begins with a breath, a pause, a letting go of the day's weight. In that stillness, images emerge—faint, fleeting, like mist rising from morning water. Colors bloom without source. Faces appear without names. Places form that never existed. The dream pulls you forward, not with force, but with invitation. You step into it gently, unsure if you are falling or flying. Time dissolves. Logic loosens. Possibility expands. What feels impossible becomes real. What feels lost returns whole.
