#682 (A Theory of Dreams)

Or maybe I’ll have strange nightmares instead. I woke up at 3am, went back to bed and woke up again at 4. I have to be leaving at 6, so I just got up. When I walked to the window (I’m on the second floor of the house) the backyard light was on. It’s a motion sensor. I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming or not, so I stood there and watched, looking for movement. If it was a dream, there would be movement or there would be something strange, or something behind me. There wasn’t in the end. But I did scout my way through the house by the light of my phone. Just in case. 

I have a theory of dreams. They’re more real the life itself. And I’m a connoisseur of the cimmerian. I have a theory of men. We’re more drawn to excitement than happiness. We dwell and feast on the mind-foods we love best: ideas of love, of danger, of darkness and the aleatory. We feast and feast until we burst. Or until reality intrudes and destroys our hearts. But I have a theory of dreams. Our dreams are reality, made up of perceptions, same as the world. But dreams are pure, they have no pretense of objectivity, no supposition that this ‘reality’ is the end-all of all things. Nor do they suppose that you are confined to them barring, perhaps, a dream of confinement. I have read that death is like going to sleep. If that is true, I would very much like to die and spend eternity dreaming. 

Soon, soon.