If I Told You That We Were Living in a Dream, Would You Believe Me?

What we know as ‘reality’ is almost always a point of contention.

I had a dream last night. I dreamt that I was running around this villa looking for my stepmum. It felt real. I felt the anguish and pain from not being able to find her no matter where I searched. I was running barefooted, with soiled bermudas and t-shirt. I felt the earthly soil dampen my soles with slimy mud and puddles of rainwater. My face had streaks of mud too, like a soldier’s camouflage. I was a child all over again – but only in my dreams. I swept the perimeter of property before landing up inside the kitchen. There I saw, standing with back against me, my stepmum chopping up ingredients and preparing dinner for our whole family. But the rest of my family wasn’t with us. It was just me and my stepmum. A strange occurrence. It’s as though my brain photoshopped in images of a random villa together with my stepmum to create a series of scenes with a hidden agenda. What was the meaning of my dream?

I woke up from my dream. I thought I was falling out of a reality into dream state because my dream had felt so convincingly real. I couldn’t distinguish reality from dream any longer. I knew that what I’d felt was real. Stop telling me that my dreams are fake. I could feel my feet digging into the soil as I ran from start to kitchen. And the sensation lingered on even after awaking. My body felt obliquely nervous and panicky from all that had transpired in the dream. But it wasn’t a dream, for I knew it to be true. I had switched between alternate realities: between my mindscape and physical landscape. Both are effectively real in all senses possible. My thoughts create a whole new world of their own. A playground of blistering creative capacity and limitless imagination. Truly a spectacular sight. The physical sweating and heart palpitation that I experienced waking up were metaphorical expressions of emotional states that had been carried over from my dream. In other words, life and dreams are like brothers or sisters: they share similar external features while differing greatly in nature. They are like a continuum that exhibits a steady transition between states of perceived existence.

My answer then, would be that real life is a dream in itself. That in every sense of the word, our perceived world of existence bases itself on the preconceived notion that real is what we saw, heard and felt the very first moment we opened our eyes upon birth; that between this world and the next, there could only be one. So utterly devious and misleading. When you ‘see’ in dreams, whose eyes are you using? I dare say it is my very own two eyes that I use in the everyday world. I dare say that it’s my own two eyes as materialised by my mental faculties. That to dream, would be to create separate entities disenfranchising themselves from our known realm of existence.

Dreams allow our subconscious to permeate them. Dreams act as an innocent vessel that holds the key to our vested interests here on Earth. And I’m no psychic to tell you what yours are. We can only find out for ourselves and ascertain truth that we may seek. For, more often than not, we do not necessarily seek truth. What we seek is consolation for not wanting to see the truth postered before our very eyes.

Don’t blame me for saying so. I say it in isolation from all bias. I dispense my knowledge justly, and as I rightfully feel incumbent on myself to do so. If I did tell you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me; and if I didn’t, you’d think I was being selfish and petty. I’m not the problem, nor are your dreams: you are.

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