Woke up with a head and a bed filled with dreams. Strange how sometimes they can seem absolutely clear and every cell in your body refuses to function and instead clings to the memories and the nuances of what had felt so real. The world is too hard and cold and, without the temporary escape to the sanctuary of dreams, too insufferable.
At times I look at life and I wonder, Is that all there is? No more than random and chaotic repetitions of events and chain reactions. Maybe I’ve just become too jaded that for something to shake me to the core, or to at least give it a little nudge, is too much to expect.
The book of Ecclesiastes says that “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” Rather bitter, perhaps, but then again isn’t most truth?
Maybe that’s where the enchantments of dreams lie. Tucked away from the harsh bright sunlight, dreams can freely reach heights that laws of nature would not allow. In the absence of improbability, we too, for once, are free.