Of Dreams and Reality

What is real?

Is it real when you feel it brush against your skin?

Is it real when you smell its sweet scent as it approaches?

Is it real when you hear its tender voice calling out for you?

Is it real when you taste its sweetness with your tongue?

Is it real when you see its horrifying beauty with your own eyes?

So is it ever just another dream?

You see them vividly, its scent significantly magnified, the voices in which you hear pierce straight to your soul making your very being shiver, the buds in which you taste become more competent and every single grain has its own distinct taste making one different from the other, everything you touch its texture forever imprinted in your mind. The emotion in which one feels as one dreams is magnified to the extent where it brinks on the extreme… the fear, the pain, the joy, the pleasure, the anxiety…

So how does one tell which is real? The lives we live when we wake or the ones we live after we tuck ourselves in at night… Consider if the latter is that which is real, consider for once that the lives we live as we walk “awake” is a sham. What if dreams are indeed real and that reality is yet another dream. If life is yet another play, you would be in the same boring play – in which the case would be if we believe the life in which we lead is the one during our “waking” moments – a life with absolutes, a life with constants.

But if the opposite were true, if say the dreaming is reality and that if reality are merely constructions of our minds in which we return to, if that is the case, the number of plays we could be in are endless, we are ourselves and at the same time we are everything we could ever wish to be. The possibilities are limitless. A life of uncertainty, excitement, a life of extravagance.

At the end of every long day filled with excitement and possibilities, we are to retire, in which we dream. We dream of a life in which it is monotonous, we dream of ourselves in which we are awake and we lead lives, and this life we lead change at a pace so slow it takes a lifetime. A life with absolutes, a life with constants. We dream of the lives we lead, a life in which we are “awake”. Such dreams we need to keep our sanity – a place in which we are certain of whom we are and of who we are supposed to be – a place of comfort to which we return to after a long day of excitement and uncertainty. A place for us to recuperate and prepare ourselves for yet another day of uncertainty.

“People think dreams aren’t real because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams ARE real, but they are made of view points, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes…”

~Neil Gaiman, The Absolute Sandman Volume 1~

What if?

To Morpheus, Onieros, The Prince of Stories, The Dream King, The Sandman.

For your pleasure…

~Semper Fi~