Perchance, to Dream

Sometimes I'm too tired to sleep.

Deep within our minds, the many tales both written and unwritten vie for the right to enter our dreams. Among them lie our desires and our aspirations, our memories and our regrets, our mysteries and our revelations. They nest in the cortical folds; the alpha waves; the id, the ego and superego. There they sit, unsatisfied by their lot in life, searching for the few chances where they may transcend existence and gain fulfillment.

They are, however, woefully unaware that the subconscious is a dangerous place for raw ideas. The battlefield claims more casualties than the ideas themselves - while some of them take credit for striking down others of their kind, it remains a fact that most of the interlopers are blasted into oblivion by the sheer force of whim or fate. Or, surviving that, they may simply be sucked into the singularity created by our first awakening, never to be seen again.

It is a rare idea that crosses the dream country and takes root within our very consciousnesses. But its struggle only becomes more difficult then. There, it must stand against the constant assaults of logic, and continue to protect itself against the winds of chance (which blow even in this arid region, yes). It must remember all this, and at the same time know to raise a single tendril to catch even a small piece of the soul that floats by every so often.

It is only the most special of ideas that learn to harness logic and seize chance as opportunity, to no longer snipe at the soul's passing but instead gain its friendship through sweetened promises and charged emotions. The soul holds the greatest love for these ideas, enveloping them in an overwhelming cloud of passions until the combined soul-entity emerges, and only the grateful spectre of the idea remains.

Sometimes I'm too tired to sleep.