Dreamer of Dreams

I’ve begun to think of life as a dream. I am therefore the creator as well as experiencer of my existence. My wandering mind sets the stage while introducing a cavalcade of characters. This is a lucid dream, one in which I’m aware and able to influence. Yet I’m more often lost to the narrative before me, allowing the story to meander as it will.

But this directionlessness isn’t always satisfying. My mind wants to be constantly entertained, so in a pinch it’ll select a cheap thrill to rouse itself, living by the motto: anything is better than boredom. My mind regrets these low-quality selections of course, getting the equivalent of a tummy-ache from the lack of nutritiousness.

What I need instead, is to fill my head with wholesomeness. One such mental-vegetable is the concept of oneness, the deconstruction of my sense-of-self, egolessness. It’s stepping back a bit from my character, seeing him as just part of the show, not some super fragile shell that needs constant protection from imagined calamity.

To perform this deconstruction, I’ll have to remove the border I perceive between myself and existence. I’ll need to reinforce the idea that “I” and everything are one. To tear down the wall of “me”, I can regularly imagine my body dispersing into particles, flowing through the aether, formless yet present, a costume to be discarded at will — for I am a dreamer of dreams.

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