It was in the eyes of a dream-stalking shaman in the forest that rests on what would become the southern border of the late Taulemon empire. Before that, it was the last word written on the decree of excommunication of Jacob McCullen. Presently it finds itself self-aware and sifting through its scattered memories. In a moment, or later, it will be of a different time, in a different place, with a different purpose.
An artist awoke from a dream and detailed the unique stripes of a tiger he had never seen. Later that day he was killed in the siege of Yorktown, and once again in a head on collision.
On a day separated by exactly 394 years from the death of William Shakespeare, PJ Freeman took a hit of marijuana and wrote that contained within his person lived the memories of innumerable souls; or perhaps he lived in them. What would be separated by a comma, a thought split and sent through space and time is pulled through existence and finds expression in a dream. The sun that rises on this morning is the same sun, and a brand new one from the one that has risen countless times before.
In 1534, Henri Berginni was executed for writing that if there was a God, it was the collective memory of every person that ever lived, and will live. And through dreams, one could tap into the memories of universe, and be one with God.