The Eternal Return

To sleep: perchance to dream...

I recall the phrase that had stuck so willingly to my mind in my eleventh grade literature class.

Hamlet, by the great William Shakespeare. Though the soliloquy in question had little to do with dreams, it is the one line that really held within, always reciting itself and echoing there in the dark, imploring me to explore further. I dream often, as we all do I should think, but what exactly is a dream? Some say its nothing more than a way for our minds to process information we've received during our waking moments, but I would dare to say that is incorrect.

We've all been to the world of the dreamers, wherein we slew dragons and flew with the eagles. We've breathed underwater, and ran in place as some great monstrosity pursued us, but we always return. We've seen our lives exactly how we always wanted them to be; happy and fulfilling. We've also seen our lives gone wrong, wherein we can only shut our eyes and scream as our problems suffocate us. Sometimes we're frightened, and others, enlightened, but we always return.

In that world, I can be so many things. I can be a slayer of great beasts, or an outlaw. I can be a master of marksmanship or the prey of a hunter, but for some reason, I always return. In those waking moments, as I rouse from heavy sleep, I struggle to make sense of where I am, or what people call me. In those moments, I can scarce recall leaving my body behind and braving the depths of the world of dreamers without need, fear, or memory of leaving myself in bed.

In that dark time, that often feels like an eternity, I was a hero or a villain, but I was exactly what I wanted to be. How long had I been that person? Was it a minute or a decade? Is it the true self within me? Is it my mind telling me that I'm not living up to its expectations? I cannot say. I only know that someday, perhaps tomorrow or a lifetime from now, I will go there, but I won't return.