Select two activities that you find engaging and meaningful and give 100% to them.
Dreaming. Sleeping. You could call that activities, right?
I can fall asleep in an instant. Last night, I asked my wife something as she went to bed. When she answered, I got annoyed: she had woken me up.
I can fall asleep anywhere. Whenever I close my eyes, I drift away, in the middle of a family gathering or in a bench in the park.
But I don’t sleep to be less tired. Tiredness is no big deal as long as I don’t have to focus my eyes (I squint when I’m tired, so reading is a chore if I haven’t been sleeping enough — but anything else is no problem).
No, I don’t sleep to get rested. I sleep to dream.
I sleep to get hypnagogic hallucinations and phosphenes. I sleep to let all parts of my brain process experiences. I sleep to rest my conscious mind and let my less conscious mind play on the stage for a few moments.
It has been they way I have been coping with life’s speed bumps: sleep, and then sleep some more, and then lie in bed or on the couch, not doing anything, just letting myself dream, watching myself dream. As if my head is putting on a show just for me, for itself, as if my mind is many parts and the only way they can communicate properly, is by dreaming.
Dreams are my mind’s allting.
I don’t think I dream more than others. Everyone dreams, isn’t that the accepted truth? But all my life, I have never met anyone who values his dreams as much. When others talk about their dreams, they talk about them is they were action movies — I went down this hill, flew over a corn field, shot a goose and turned into a turnip.
I still remember one of my flying dreams: I jumped off a chair and levitated through a room with most of my class mates. Nothing happened, I just landed on the other side of the room after a while, it wasn’t an action filled dream, and yet I still remember it vividly. I remember the feeling.
I like my dreams the way I like my books: what happens is less important than how it happens, and how it moves you.
A dream is like a jar of different emotions in a dark room: you never know what you will get once you enter into the darkness, and yet you come back, over and over, because you know that without that jar of emotions, your emotional life will be flat.
Where in the waste is the wisdom? In the deepening of your emotions. In finding a kind of inner peace. In how you’ll manage to cope.
If I could make three wishes for my old age, one of them would be this: I wish I will still be dreaming.
If not, I don’t know how I’ll stay sane.