Monday, September 27, 2010

A Midnight Wish for Morning

The shadow of a single cloud moving lazily across the midday sky passes slowly along the ground like the silhouette of some great dark beast beneath my feet, patiently searching for something to devour. Here I dream that I have yet to live, that this walk beneath the hungry clouds is an illusion inside the psyche of a sleeping infant. I dream that everything I know is false, that I will awaken again as a child and remember nothing of this dream that I have lived for so many years. That I will lose everything save the strongest emotions of that dream.

Do I go to sleep and dream that I am someone else? Or is the other way around? Perhaps what I've always thought was happening when I fall asleep and dream is actually the process of waking up from a dream that I am an eighteen year old, disaffected wanderer who loves to write and has a life like a train wreck. Perhaps this world is that dream, and that each night I am given a chance to wake up. I ought not to trust my senses because I could be dreaming and not know it. The sense ideas that I have may not be caused by anything in the external world, they may just be a dream.

What, then, awaits those who choose to wake up? Is death not the only way to discover which place is the dream, and which is reality? 

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