On Dreams

Dreams are powerful. Dreams often act as inter-dimensional gateways of human experience. Last night I had a dream I can now merely hold up its torn, detached, unmatched pieces to the light and, in some attempt of seeing my dream more clearly, go blind. There were people perched in trees, swaying to music; some had hair in all different colors, their bodies resembling the Egyptian Ka. They blew rings of smoke into the air and some turned their human eyes with a birdlike quickness to watch me. Only I was not me. I was someone else and everyone else; we’ve had those experiences haven’t we? Zooming in and out of faces, feeling what they feel, doing what they do. Sometimes all those faces in dreams become you, and all those actions, that somehow dwindle for hour upon hour until that alarm clock rings, are you. It seems as if an uncoordinated essence is pondered on, then shaken up with all the fears and loves imaginable, each different and the same to the sleeping circle. But there’s more, so much more to the depths of dreams besides disorienting the sleeper momentarily. I feel that if all our dreams, twinkling with the sleep in our eyes, would be laid out and figured out then its demeanor will not be so mysterious, and the influence it might have on everyday life would become excruciatingly predictable. So sweet is then the unknown…