At times, I seem to hate life. But it’s not really life that I hate. It’s this life. I loathe the pain and emptiness of a bewildering procession of crimes, failures, and losses that has been my experience or interpretation of life in this world. Too much suffering, both individually and collectively. I know it doesn’t have to be this way, because my dreams are better.
True, even in dreams, I remain an insignificant “victim of circumstance” or happenstance as the case may be. Things in my dreams regularly run contrary to the goal or whatever. And it troubles me that I don’t have complete control over my own dreams. Yet, my dreamland never contains anything as hideous as the obscene goings on of this waking life.
No children die from rocket attacks in my dreams. The world is never at war. Whole races of people aren’t enslaved. There are no rapes. No thefts. No alarm clocks. Nobody goes to meaningless jobs. I’ve never had a dream about a politician, king, army, police officer, or any other gangster type. Nobody kills animals to eat. At no time has anyone heard Barry Manilow.
Come to think of it, nobody craps in my dreams either. I do need to pee in my dreams sometimes. In fact, twice - once in childhood and once in adulthood – I’ve literally wet myself because I was pissing in a dream. That’s my version of a nightmare. Otherwise, my dreams are pleasant, peaceful, equitable. Sometimes I even think I’m gaining influence there.
Not long ago, I dreamed I was about to record a new song when suddenly I broke a guitar string. All the “victimization” of this world began to unfold. Nobody had a spare. The music store was closed because it was Sunday. (See what I mean about meaningless jobs? I can’t even staff a music store in my dreams!)
Everything was going contrary to the goal when I spotted something overly surreal, which tipped me off that I was dreaming. I don’t remember what it was, but I remember it was subtle. A small something that was easy enough to miss and yet too incongruous to go unnoticed.
So I said to the band, “Wait a minute. This is a dream. There are plenty of strings everywhere as soon as we say so. In fact, we don’t even need strings to make this jam.” Immediately I awoke. Apparently I was exerting too much influence over my dream.
Anyway, I think I have to master dreams before I have any real chance of making this waking world better. The only real control I have here is over myself. I can influence people to varying degrees and do some cause-and-effect stuff, but I can’t even consistently predict outcomes. I certainly can’t rid the place of hatred and warfare, much less make it rain guitar strings or play music without instruments.
But the fact that my dreams are better than reality raises questions. When people talk about God, I have to wonder what sort of All-mighty, All-wise, All-loving God makes a world this awful when my silly dreams are better. Perhaps my waking life is another clown’s nightmares?
I wonder why I haven’t been able to manifest complete control over my own dreams. Not only is happenstance a regular occurrence, but I’ve never dreamed anything completely new. I might see a sailboat with wings or a giraffe with wings, but anything I imagine involves combinations of things that are here in this waking life. If I can’t invent a new thing in my own mind, I may be even more enslaved than I’ve suspected.
I also wonder if dying in my sleep is what happens if I do finally assume total command of the dream state. Maybe one night I’ll succeed in creating a dream so fresh and wonderful that I simply refuse to come back. That’s one of my favorite thoughts - that perhaps one night I go to sleep and all this nonsense fades into oblivion. Hopefully soon.
It’s not entirely evil here, of course. It’s a mix. And the good is why I’m not rushing death, which I don’t understand. But I’ve seen enough evil, and I have no hopes that this world will improve. So I’m ready for a better place, and I know where one is. Dreamland.