In the quiet solitude of night, our dreams unfold with a spontaneity absent from our waking life. Each moment in a dream feels immediate, unfiltered by the sieve of memory—pure, raw, and vivid. This stark immediacy begs the question: are our dreams a closer touch to reality than our waking state, where every scene is a recall, every interaction a replay of past impressions?
Dreams escape the confines of time and principle. They occur without our conscious consent, painting scenarios both surreal and fervently real. Upon waking, these dreams are recalled, if at all, as fleeting shadows of experience, suggesting that perhaps we only truly encounter reality in the unfettered landscapes of sleep—where we do not remember, but simply experience.
Consider how seldom we assume responsibility for our dreams, particularly when they wander into violence or breach societal norms. In contrast, many of us are quick to claim ownership of our realities, embracing responsibility for actions and decisions. Yet, if our dreams are spontaneous bursts of genuine existence, and our waking lives a sequence of remembered events, where does true agency lie? Are we not mere observers in the dream of life, mistaking memory for experience?
In dreams, everyone and everything feels immediate and direct. In wakefulness, everything is recalled, everyone a memory. Our perceived reality is pieced together from fragments of the past, continuously reconstructed in the mind’s silent theatre. The more we remember, the more our reality resembles a dream—constantly reremembered, never quite grasped.
My dreams are perhaps the truest reality I know. My waking life, a beautifully intricate dream.
World of Illusions 