The dream algorithm

Travel souvenir

What a sad­ness to leave a dream, espe­cial­ly one that comes to haunt the uni­verse of our uncon­scious­ness from time to time. I am one of those who glide, who fly away. I don’t have wings in my dreams, I nev­er even go very high. These are not big-screen adven­tures. Despite the dif­fer­ent sets and char­ac­ters, the dream fol­lows more or less the same sce­nario, I nor­mal­ly walk until the feet leave the ground, by the grad­ual absence of grav­i­ty, try­ing to make the plea­sure last.

Dur­ing these dreams, I am usu­al­ly sur­round­ed by peo­ple who are not sur­prised to see me hov­er­ing just above their heads. Just yes­ter­day, I was among my co-work­ers who had gath­ered in a large room to meet… trans­gen­der peo­ple. I was hav­ing fun see­ing J. talk­ing seri­ous­ly with a man/​woman, both of them sit­ting in a cor­ner like they were telling each oth­er secrets.

The dream­like flight is not excep­tion­al and I would be bored if I could extrap­o­late some uni­ver­sal mean­ing from my mod­est brain chem­istry. Mythol­o­gist Camp­bell said he nev­er want­ed to tell his dreams to oth­ers because what we find won­der­ful will invari­ably be of lit­tle inter­est to others.

This dream does not haunt me, but I can say that the algo­rithm behind it seems to be chang­ing. Although I can’t be sure — how can we base truths on our noc­tur­nal whims ? — I have the impres­sion that I always man­age to rise a lit­tle high­er, that my flight lasts longer, that my lungs become balloons.

Noth­ing cer­tain, I repeat, but this dream rejoins the awak­ened state of mind that is read­i­ly called med­i­ta­tion. When I let my eyes glide over things, over peo­ple, I feel like I’m dream­ing, like I’m noth­ing and every­thing. I often stop lis­ten­ing to a con­ver­sa­tion and linger on a per­son­’s neck­line, observe the blink­ing of his or her eyes, or spy on the appar­ent immo­bil­i­ty of objects that are degrading.

Glide, fly over, bypass, walk away from the ground of every­day life. Break­ing the rules of the ordi­nary. What I would like to be always only this ephemer­al feel­ing of fullness !