Tag Archives: goal

Podcast Episode: Top of the Hill

11 Aug
A woman and young boy walking hand in hand on a rocky trail near a coastal house at sunset

A mother and child share a joyful walk along a rugged coastal path at sunset.

Pip: There’s something about waking up at 5:52 in the morning and reaching for a pen before the dream dissolves that feels quietly urgent — like the mind knows something the rest of the day will drown out.

Mara: That’s exactly the territory masmeron is working in here — a dream, a hillside, a house, and what lingers when you open your eyes. Let’s start with the hill itself.

Top of the Hill

Pip: Dreams are slippery things. Most of them evaporate the moment the alarm goes off, but occasionally one leaves a shape behind — a feeling, a place, a face. This post is about one of those.

Mara: The setting is a rural hillside, and the post opens with this: “The hill was located in the rural area wherein I can feel the fresh and cooler air as we move toward a house.”

Pip: What strikes me about that line is the present tense — “I can feel” — as if the memory of the dream is still happening, still physical. The air isn’t remembered; it’s experienced.

Mara: The house they reach has a few rooms, painted bluish white, everything in its place, and nobody inside. The mother’s reaction is described simply: “My mother was amazed with a beautiful house. It showed it on her face.”

Pip: No inventory of the rooms, no architectural detail — just the expression on her face. That’s the whole image, and it carries more than a paragraph of description would.

Mara: Then the dreamer steps outside and the scale shifts. More hills, more distance, and at the top of one of them, a small single-floor house made of light materials, a rain-proofed roof, dried wood walls. No people, no animals.

Pip: Just the cool air again. The dream keeps returning to that — the freshness, the temperature. It’s the one sensory thread that holds the whole landscape together.

Mara: And then: “My dream discontinued when I open my eyes and see in the window blinds slits the morning light. It was 5:52 in the morning already.”

Pip: “Discontinued” is an unusual word for it. Not ended, not faded — discontinued, like a signal that was simply cut.

Mara: It’s precise in a way that feels accidental and exactly right. The dream had its own continuity, and waking interrupted it rather than concluded it.

Pip: A hillside, a house at the top, a mother’s face — the kind of dream that doesn’t explain itself but doesn’t need to.

Mara: Next time, more of what surfaces when the morning light comes through.

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Top of the Hill

11 Aug

Sunrise over foggy Chocolate Hills with traditional houses and green vegetation

Sunrise illuminates the famous Chocolate Hills landscape with fog and greenery

In the early morning of August 11, 2026, I had a dream. The dream was not so clear every detail of it but I can still recall some of it. I dreamed about my mother and I are walking together on a hill. The hill was located in the rural area wherein I can feel the fresh and cooler air as we move toward a house. When we reached the house, I saw that it has a few rooms painted with bluish white in color wherein everything in place. Nobody inside the house. My mother was amazed with a beautiful house. It showed it on her face. I knew we talked while inside the house but I cannot recall in my dream the exact details of our conversation. When I went outside the house, I saw many hills around that area. In the distance, I saw a single-floor, small house at the top of the hill. The small house is made up of light materials with a rain-proofed roof and dried wood wall. I cannot see anybody or even animals in that area. I could only feel the fresh and cooler air outside.

My dream discontinued when I open my eyes and see in the window blinds slits the morning light.  It was 5:52 in the morning already.

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Podcast Episode: Baston, Pamaypay at Punda

8 Aug
Colorful painted wooden cane, floral hand fan, and striped woven pillow on wooden table

Colorful Filipino souvenirs including a painted cane, floral fan, and woven pillow displayed on a wooden table

Pip: Sleep deprivation and a restless Sunday night — masmeron’s account of what happened next is the kind of story that makes you reconsider going to bed at all.

Mara: The episode today is about a dream — vivid, specific, and quietly weighted with grief. Let’s start with the dream itself and what it left behind.

Baston, Pamaypay at Punda

Pip: The post opens with a simple setup: exhausted from schoolwork, unable to sleep, and then — once sleep finally comes — a dream so detailed it reads more like a memory than a vision.

Mara: The context is a family gathering back in the province, and the dream begins with a surprise at the door. The post describes it this way: “Nagulat ako nang buksan ko ang pinto ng bahay namin ay bumungad sa aking harapan si Nanay. Parang pagod siya na dumating galing sa paglalakad sa gitna sikat ng araw.”

Pip: So the mother arrives alone, tired, in a purple duster, white hair cut short — and then quietly steps outside to sit on a concrete roadside ledge, no bench, no companion. That image carries weight before the dream even explains why.

Mara: What follows is a walk home. The mother is thin-armed but quick, and she refuses help. Then she spots a metal cane tangled in a water hose, wet from running water, and insists on retrieving it. The post quotes her: “Kailangan ko ito” — I need this — as she pulls the cane free.

Pip: A stranger then hands them colorful fans — green, yellow, red, still wrapped in plastic — out of what seems like simple kindness toward two people walking in the midday heat. The cane’s owner turns out to be the same neighbor, who waves it off: they already bought a new one.

Mara: And then a third figure appears: Indo Pancing, the mother’s sibling, trailing behind them unnoticed, dragging an armful of pillowcases found near the same spot — thin fabric, light colors, so many they drag along the ground.

Pip: Three objects picked up from the same stretch of road. That detail feels almost too tidy for a dream, which is maybe why it lodges.

Mara: The dreamer wakes just after one in the morning and makes the connection: the mother and Indo Pancing share the same death anniversary — January 28. The mother died at 1:03 in the afternoon. Her birthday falls in December.

Pip: A dream about two people who are gone, carrying things they found on the road home. That’s the whole post, and it doesn’t need to be anything more than that.

Mara: It’s a quiet piece — no interpretation offered, just the sequence of images and the date that surfaces after waking. The grief is in the arithmetic, not the analysis.

Pip: Dreams about the dead tend to arrive with objects — something carried, something retrieved, something that didn’t quite fit but mattered anyway.

Mara: That’s the territory here. We’ll be back when there’s more to sit with.

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