Dreams are not chemicals, but your best kept secrets,
your own stories and analyses you hide from yourself.
I know that this thick knowledge that pulses through my bones
and blood has an old story which the chemical particles and
energy waves translate for the benefit of my spirit world, but
unfortunately experience interferes in the translation.

And, predestination is form-fitting, opulent in the
stipulation it puts upon me. My spirit and soul stretch to fit my experiencial self, and yet they want me to know there's so much more; they don't want my experience to strangle me in its disassociation from the rest of me (or in my shallow and inadequate interpretation).

Being born again, my experience slowly convenes, vein by vein,
with my original soul-spirit-life-blood-God. The blood and
sweat pour out of my hands into this experience as I strum my
guitar, as I swill my wine, as I write this now. The stories
pour out of me, word-less and subtle, yet all with me and for
all of me in my now looser clothes, my suit of experience still
opulent, but now merciful in it graduation to the spirit world.