I don’t think of those things that are tangible as being dreams. I never really have.
I don’t dream about being a writer, I just am, even when I’m not. It’s not an intangible thing. It feels ridiculously concrete given it’s ethereal nature.
No, dreams are that which are all and nothing simultaneously. But this is me. When I go to sleep, I dream. They are vivid, active, and I come back with them mostly intact. Strangely incorporeal, and yet so defined.
This is the place where my brain loves to play. I go on adventures through countries that my conscious brain cannot conceive of, and yet I must take full responsibility for their existence because it is my mind that they inhabit. Yes they are pieces of, influenced by, created with the day to day experiences I have. A fragment of story, a visual imprint, an half buried thought I wouldn’t remember thinking if probed, these are the facets that compose my dreams, however imperfect a jewel they may be, they shine bright in my dark night’s sleep.
And this is why I often take issue with the notion of “if you can dream it, you can do it!” No I fucking can’t. The physics of what I get up to in my dream state are not possible in the waking reality of my corporeal form. I guess for me there is a distinction of a dream I have, and a vision of the future or perceivable potential I’d like to realize.
I read somewhere that the Lakota have no word for believe. Something either happened or it didn’t, regardless of the state of mind the mind was in at the time. I like that idea very much. It gives weight to those parts of our thoughts that deserve more recognition as being valid partners in a person’s ability to push past their own boundaries of what they can imagine is possible.
And just because it’s so good…