What Dreams are Made Of

I remember a few years ago sitting at my kitchen table with an old friend. It was vaguely midnight, and we were engorging in the finest Carter's gourmet hamburgers. Simply delightful. As the conversation progressed (and we became increasingly tired) he brought up one of more profound things I'd ever heard. What if the real world, the one that you and I are in right now, is actually a dream? And, with that being said, what if the dreams that we go to every night are actually true representation of the actual REAL life? Do you follow? I sat there, thinking that over, and a few seconds later quickly retorted with the normal brush off. The typical, "you insane mother f*cker". It's important for me to tell you that my friend didn't actually give up the argument as easily as I'd hoped.

He kept coming, and soon enough, the abusrd logic that I (just minutes prior) had just shot down began to make sense. I suppose I should share it with you. Perhaps the world which we know right now isn't real at all. Who's to tell us otherwise? That would make the dream state the ultimate state, rather than the opposite. How bizarre it would be to go to bed at night, and when we find ourselves in some field of magical talking shot glasses, we call it reality. That was basically the jist of it. Now, I know exactly how you're reacting the proposition that our dreams are real, and our reality is dreaming. I can see, sitting at the computer, probably in your underwear, staring at the screen. I'm at least half right, so it's a start. Well, there you sit, telling yourself that you've just read the most implausible thing, but hear this. You and I both know that there is no chance of our dreams being real. But what if? What if the world that I'm in right now, this realistic, sensual world, is actually random interjection of dreamland. I do know that everyone of us wakes up occasionaly in the middle of the night. Either we're returning from some nightmare, or just startled after some tossing and turning. Consider if we were, instead, "waking" into a dream rather than out of one. Just sit there and turn it over and over in your mind (not too hard, I know some of you can't handle the stress, but give some effort). It's one of those thoughts that kind of sticks in the back of your mind, and occasionaly freaks you out before you fall asleep. Ok, no freaking-out occurs, but how about an overwhelmed feeling? Better? The only thing I can rightly compare it to is finding myself lying in bed and thinking about death. Death is endless, another journey with the only rest-stops coming 5,000 miles apart. But hey, you learn to hold it. Just imagining the magnitude of eternity makes my brain want to seep out of my nose and hide in a hole somewhere. Trust me on that, it's not a nice thought. I suppose it comes down to faith. I have faith enough in death to know that I can conquer it. Of course not by myself, but with a little divine intervention. However, the catalyst is faith. It seems that faith makes all things real, and as long as I have faith in the world I live in now - the real world - who needs dreams.

Even with talking shot glasses.