There is a vibrancy to the last throes of visionary sleep that cannot easily be explained. Striking in its urgency, the unconcious mind’s purpose in providing invariably pulsating images is unclear, but it nonetheless offers an affirmation of existence by virtue of its consequence-free nature.
However, the rapidly-fading characteristic of these dreamscapes damns us, for now at least, to an infuriating struggle to recapture the fervent passion contained within the nocturnal moments of wonder. Even the worst nightmares serve to awaken in us an utterly visceral experience of emotion, one we may not encounter at any point during our entire waking life.
It is in these fleeting flashes of illumination that we are truly ourselves, free from the bonds of externality. Without the responsibilities of conscious thought, the tethers that keep our innermost desires in check and bind us to a behaviour of relative modesty, our subconscious reveals itself to us – albeit opaguely – via the fluid narratives we bear witness to.
So there. That’s what I think of dreams anyway.
Solidarity, brothers & sisters… ▼