‘When slumber seals our weary eyes, The busy fancy wakeful keeps, The scenes which then before us rise, Prove something in us never sleeps.’
I dream. I am a dreamer. There are few moments in my life where I find myself firmly attached to the popular belief of reality. The world around me in my day to day life just doesn’t suffice. Even when my body rests, my mind is still active, whisking me away.
Lush with vegetation. I step bare foot from the grainy hot sand onto the cooling green grass of the jungle precipice. I stare up between the fan like leaves, black, against the dazzling sunlight peeking through, blinding me with it’s flare. I am conscious of my hand moving slowly up to shield my eyes as my other arm pushes past a bushy outcrop of fern, leading me onto a dusty cobbled path. The sounds of a market flood my ears. Above the din I hear a whisper. Calling me beyond the baskets of saffron, past the cart of cumin, down an alleyway, through an old tattered wooded door, into darkness.
I open my eyes.
My dreams are vivid. I wake with the smells encircling me and the heat of a distant land on my skin. If only they were reality.
But who am I to argue that they are not?
What if my waking life were the falsehood? What if this life was a debt that had to be paid in order for me to earn time in true freedom, time in a dream?
I quash these thoughts when I travel. When I finally feel the damp fern leaves brush across my arm or feel the sand beneath my feet. My dreams become my waking life and they truly are real. They have clarity and prominence of sense. What was once out of focus, a haze, a washed out thought in my morning mind, becomes a pixel perfect image.
Dreams can be a guide. They lead to aspirations. And that is what we want from life. The pursuit of fulfilling our aspirations. My aspirations are simple.
To live the dream.
To walk to path.
To see the world.