Dreamer

Magical ideation is a wonderful thing, but often hard to explain. It can seem alienating, as you try to tell others that you get vibes from situations and imagine impossible things occurring constantly, with full knowledge that they're happening only in your mind. The best explanation I can come up with is this:

The dream never truly ends; reality just slowly seeps in. Thoughts of people, things to do, responsibilities, all sink in, the weight of them layering upon like a heavy blanket. Gradually the memories of functional reality and psychic creation begin to separate, pulling apart strand by strand. It becomes clear that one lot of images will be phased out for the next 16 hours, and that conventionality must take precedence.

It never feels pleasant, this coming back into the world. The temptation to just float back into dream space is almost too great, and yet every day the battle is fought and lost. Willingly, I might add. The realisation befalls that there is responsibility and regular upkeep and social expectation all riding upon the ability to smother the magical thoughts and just get on with things. And so, you wake up, properly.

Throughout the day you permit yourself little secret pleasure by slipping back into the dream world, only for a moment. When walking between rooms and buildings, you imagine you're staggered throughout time, a cross-section flitting from one broken frame to the next, every decision about which direction to walk fracturing time and creating an alternate you. Or when sitting in the park at lunchtime, watching the imaginary grass roots split through your shoe and feed your feet with pulses of earthen energy, reinvigorating your soul. Or during conversations with people, when you touch your forehead in concentration, then pull your finger away with a slip of paper containing your real thoughts, letting it float down gently in the middle of you both, communicating and fully connecting with another human being.

That's what each day is like. It is magical and it is wonderful. It's also a little sad that I can't share this directly with anyone, or that some (few) people have reacted with a special mixture of abject fascination and befuddlement when I begin to explain how swiping my finger through the air creates a line of flame burning open a rift in the air, such that I can reach inside and grab a torch. They don't quite get that.

Luckily, I have you, dear reader, to whom to confess all of this. It's an isolating yet enriching experience, every single time.

-J