They aren’t what they used to be?

Before I begin, I think this, perhaps by its nature, perhaps because of its timing, is going to be one of the more personal things I’ve written. If you don’t want to read that, feel free not to. 🙂

So, dreams.

They, or at least ‘some things’, slide by so carelessly, or so the Killers sang in a song that always got to me. From when I was about twelve, there was something meaningful in the driving melancholy of ‘Smile Like You Mean It’, perhaps it was as simple as it just thoroughly fitted with some of the things that were going on when I was that age, or maybe I just like the nostalgia of the song, but when I think about hopes and dreams and that sort of thing, that’s what tends to be the soundtrack to the thought-process in my head. The other thing which immediately springs to mind though, when I think of dreams, is, well this quote from the very first Harry Potter novel:

It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.

It’s a bit of advice that’s always had an effect on me, from when I was very little, and still harboured that tragic little hope that perhaps I’d be somewhat magical, I guess it was the moment I fell in love with the idea of wisdom, and it’s definitely the first reason I could name for the adoration I’ll admit to having for Mr. Dumbledore. It’s all quite ironic really, given that fact, and also given that I always tend to remind myself of those words on the very occasions when I’ve perhaps forgotten the advice they hold!

The thing is, dreams fascinate me, not in an astrology/divining the future way, but simply in a ‘why’ way. Why do our bodies do such counterproductive things to us at night? What is *with* the simple conjuring trick performed by our synapses? And why do I always love them so, despite this? What is so intoxicating?

The way I see it, a good dream is the pinnacle of frustrating. Of course you can see it as inspiring perhaps, but the fact remains that you’ve just experienced something good, maybe something you wanted to happen, yet it didn’t occur in any meaningful place. I didn’t actually just save the world and get the girl, if you will. The sort of thing that could be unendingly depressing if it was allowed to be. Although, and this is just occurred to me, perhaps this is the reason why we so often find our dreams teasingly, tantalisingly beyond recollection, our bodies and our brains make the executive decision for us, maybe we should be grateful…

Logically, then we come to bad dreams; the idea of a nightmare. How terrible is it that our own brains invent such torments? It’s as if we don’t have enough worry or terror in our everyday lives. As if the daily tremors of our worlds aren’t high enough on the Richter scale… Still though, maybe it’s that a nightmare makes you feel alive, reminds us of our true fears, of our true anxieties, and I suppose this is good for us, although it’s certainly in the manner of that proverbial ‘bitter pill to swallow’.

Then, I guess, we arrive at the issue of those ever so deadly metaphorical dreams. This is where I’m probably especially guilty, it almost seems human nature to look at things and hypothesise the best way things’ll go, as a recent example, I made this mistake with my latest driving test, and well, it’s a bit naff when you realise how ahead of yourself you were.  The problem is, it seems, that we don’t have this self-regulating safety system when we’re not actually dreaming, we’re free to have the most insane hopes, or the most dreadful fears, without any shut-off, or instant memory loss. It’s the sort of thing that I imagine could be the most dangerous thing in the world if you let it. If you dwelt on the issue, to put it one way.

In the end though, these extra-ordinary, by the very definition of the world, phenomena seem beyond any real quantification. They depend on so many different things, it’s part of that scientific minefield of a debate about what is ‘consciousness’, and I’m going to avoid that, but, it’s always something that makes me think. We set ourselves up for such falls, and I can’t help but think there must be some reason, some great evolutionary decision, somewhere, made to keep us from some primal danger. But really, I guess it’s probably good to admit: I just don’t know.

And maybe that’s the absolutely wonderful thing about dreams. Just maybe. Cross all your fingers and all your toes, then you’ve done all you can. Just maybe.

Hope this hasn’t been too flighty, or too rambling, or too anything really. No pretentious poetry on today’s horizon. Sweet dreams!