Lara,

Thank you for your post, actually I'm not familiar with Oliver Sacks and so will certainly look into his work. As you're interested I'd like to share the following.
About a month ago I was in bed, wide awake talking to my wife as she got ready. I live in an Edwardian house where all the doors,frames and skirting boards are dark wood.
As we spoke I noticed the door frame shimmering and change from a plain face to one ornately carved, all the way round with 'celtic' spirals .
I immediately told my wife. I looked away, blinked, moved my head but the image persisted for about 90 sec. It faded as if it was on lace and peeled back. Hallucinations are a product of PD meds of course and I've had two others over the last 7y, brief and mundane not at all like this. I feel it had some significance.
I'm familiar with symbolism having walked the line between science and spirit and studied all things esoteric since a boy. I was a 'spiritual Freemason' for over 20y.
Thank you again for your kindness and I hope you enjoy the following.

THE BEACH


I found myself on a deserted beach
where laughing children seldom reach.
A voice said come and sit with me
on the sand between land and sea
and I will teach you how to dream
so the world to you will not seem,
like the one that you were taught
to take as told without a thought.
You will see though eyes are shut.
And that the veil can be cut
so inside you will start to see,
the hidden nature of reality.
For as every tiny grain of sand
creates a beach along the land
so every single thought that's born
through the day from dusk til dawn
creates a tiny change in fate
and in the worlds current state

THE CHURCH TREE
Strong and stark your form defiant against the Skies,
bereft of your crocodile Skin and your Glory,
a strange hypnotic beauty within you lies
a pattern of Rings which hides your Story.
Forced into your twilight years ahead of time,
by malicious Storms intent on your demise.
I try to read your branches which seem to mime,
scenes from your past which now do rise
and before me I see several Lover's meet,
the Cat that always slept within your Roots,
and the Workers who used you as a Seat
while the Postman paused to adjust his Boots.
But the warmest image that does now appear
is of the Children that each Summer to you did race,
climbing high into your Branches to laugh and cheer.
The promise of their return helped you to face
those long Winter months of Snow and Rain
until you felt their arms around your Boughs
saying that you're their special Place again,
for as long as their fast fading Youth allows.
So as you stand here silent and forlorn
listen to my Words and feel my gentle touch,
for many Trees from you have been born,
and we were the Children that loved you so much.

DOPAMINE DREAMS

I see kaleidoscope smiles, stuttered images of faces with cartoon features,
I cannot tell their intent, are they benign beings or malevolent creatures,
they just sway and smile, content.

Soon do they fade, instead stands a man tall and proud, a shining gold token,
he says “to you I must confide”, “though you're troubled,stooped and broken,
I am you but deep inside.”

On the edge of the pit, my fingers white as I, desperate, cling to the lip.
Warm hands reach out, but only offer me sweet wine from crystal to sip,
as cheery goodbyes they shout.

“Why ?” I suddenly ask, must I suffer so on the tip of your lance,
“not that again “, “I've told you before, you've lost a game of chance,
losers pay with pain”.

Wary of me once, Dwarfs now circle,chanting with eyes of fire and spite,
unknown voices jeer, sensing weakness they're shocked when I fight,
anger replacing fear.

I often see it, the spiral Glyph with it's hidden message that I cannot read,
yet all will be revealed, when one day soon it's import will be freed,
reason no longer concealed.

PYGMALION


Poor Pygmalion, his desire for Women always tainted
by those who exchange love for coin, those Women of the
Night, faces painted ,he did once with Intimacy seek to join.

He thought the fairer Sex a worthless Breed,not worth a
second of his Time,this hate so became his Creed,he felt
to speak to such Creatures a Crime.

His Work absorbed him, working in purest stone,
not in control of his Mind ,his Tools a life of their own,
there appeared an image of Woman Kind.

For he had created,whilst not even aware, a Statue
of the female Form, so beautiful he could only stare
and feel his hate now transform.

He toiled ever more, emotion in him grew, perfection
he now sought as suddenly he knew, it was purest
Love that he had wrought.

Fervent Pleas to Aphrodite, for he longed for the Stone,
such perfection yet cold, to become Flesh and Bone,
his Lover to hold.

Heard from above,she became soft and warm to touch,
he knew what he had missed,that he had lost so much
the moment her Lips he kissed