Night after night we seem to travel to different worlds
where we inhabit various characters whose stories
we find fascinating in some strange familiar way.
When we awaken in the morning, we apparently
forget all the other worlds, believing this is the only
real one, and that the character we are currently
occupying is the only one we’ve ever been.
Some claim that the difference between our dreams
and waking life is merely a matter of duration,
but perhaps it is not even that.
Maybe we go nowhere at all, but remain motionless
as our dream scenes pass before us, like movies
on a screen, regardless if it’s night or day.
In that sense, we write the screenplays, perform
in all of the productions, acting in all the roles, and also
sit as the audience — it seems we’re versatile that way.
Does it matter if our creative melodramas, tragedies
and comedies, turn out to be real or not?
What does “real” mean anyway?
Mind projects a festival of engaging scenarios
and then serves popcorn for the play!