For the last few nights I’ve closed my eyes to the world and entered into another, very vivid dream world. It seems at the moment I dream all night. They’re like movies that go on and on. I feature in them of course, but among a cast of hundreds. I’m a participant, perhaps I’m the protagonist, but I’m not the star. Sitting here now I can’t remember one detail of any of the dreams, but know that there has been nothing disturbing in the events portrayed by my dreams. I relish the dreams actually, and find myself infused with a sense of wellbeing in the wake of the dreams. I suspect very strongly that these dreams are a reaction to the utter turmoil of my life at the moment. As it is now in my waking hours I am at the epicentre of myriad narratives, many of them confronting, most of them challenging, and almost all of them confusing. The dreams are an antidote from that. They take me away from the centre of things, and reveal to me a world where other things can happen, and do happen. My waking life is all-consuming. I fret and strain and struggle and plot and plan, mostly to futile effect. The effort corrodes, and the seeming meaningless role I play casts into doubt the worth of everything.
These things tug at me. Sometimes I am subsumed by them. At its worst I wonder how I can go on. In moments of clarity I understand that in large part it is an illusion, yet an illusion I must yet navigate through. The dreams remind me that it need not be like this. There are other ways of being. There is a future. I am but one in a sea of many. Now is not forever.
In my sleep I am taken away from myself, and find solace in the journey.