such stuff as dreams are made

“We are such stuff
As dreams are made on and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep…”

–William Shakespeare, The Tempest (IV, i, 156-157)

i am one of the lucky ones. sleep comes easily to me and it always has. when i hear stories from people who have insomnia, i cannot understand what it must be like to have problems falling asleep. for me it is as natural as breathing.

sleep is my daily comfort. it is safe and warm and rejuvinating. it is my escape and my return. it is the period at the end of my day.

i used to keep a dream journal. it stayed on my night stand and each morning, as soon as i opened my eyes, i would record what i remembered from my dreams. every so often, i look through that journal and when i read about the dreams, they come alive again in my mind. most are just non-sensical combinations of random people, places and events. but there are a few that seem to be something more. sometimes i wish i had not stopped recording my dreams. sometimes i think i should start my journal again. sometimes i think that dreams might actually reveal something significant that lies just below the threshold of consciousness. sometimes i think i think too much.

sitting here this morning, i cannot recall the last dream i had. it seems that if i don’t capture them with words, they evaporate into the morning light and are lost forever along with whatever truth they were trying to communicate.


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