Someone once said, I’m sure, that we create our own reality. I don’t know who that would be, or if he’s been often quoted, but it is true that our perceptions make up how we define our universe, what we interpret and how we relate to it.
In that capacity then, do our dreams count as reality when we experience them so vividly, so purely as if the were another reality accessible only through sleep?
Who’s to say what’s real? I never like forcing myself to go to bed. The concept of sleep never really seems attractive to me at night, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s a control thing – I don’t like to give up breathing and thoughts and bodily control to my autonomic functions. Not that they don’t take care of it – I’m just not sure if the scenarios they create are really happening sometimes or not: as though I’m traveling through fantastical, crazy universes, where lost things are found, non-existent lovers are met and adventure never ceases to be right around bend after interesting bend. I never feel scared or unhappy in these dreams, save for twice, and I can always just snap my fingers and wake up.
But what do I do when the dream doesn’t want to let go…when I’m so ensnared by the dream that the concept of responsibilities and obligations melts away and I’m only alive in the dream? What do I do when life becomes so monotonous that I’d rather be adventuring in my sleep?
Sometimes I wish I could just go into a perpetually REM state of a coma… but only in the morning, when I miss the dream world, and remember the feelings it gave. By nightfall, my mind is again distrustful of the body and the unknown, and it fights the urge to sleep. Too bad I don’t have a choice.