The Waking Dream

I put weight in my dreams. As in, the ones which come to me after I've laid my head to rest, when I expect a restful slumber to come over me.

Sometimes, the visions I see prompt a phone call to a long lost friend. Is everything okay? I had a dream about you.

There are different kinds of dreams. Some are frivolous and fun, like the ones where I'm attending a concert and having a jolly ole' time. Others are so vividly real, where I know I'm dreaming, and so I conjure up the ability to fly and go exactly where I want to go. The Pyramids and the Great Wall from a bird's-eye view are surely sights to behold.

Then, there are the ones in which I feel a message is contained. The ones where I've been woken, jolted, by a sudden curiosity for mere acquaintances who seemed to leave no real mark in my waking moments.

Why did I dream about you?

This question often prompts me into a longing for prayer. That's silly. Not because prayer is silly, but because one should never be longing for prayer. Prayer is always there, always available. Just pray. Ask anything. Say anything. The longing is unnecessary time wasted.

Why did I dream about you?

And so, I pray this:

That you are safe. That your penchant for booze, women, and drugs leaves no waste on your liver and your lungs. That the separation is clear between temporary pleasure and your trusted, old friends, who knew you before the worldly successes, however mediocre or grand they are. I pray that your heart stays humble, that you are considerate with your money, and that you think ahead of the life you wish to have in two, four, twenty years – and you walk with confidence toward it.

I pray you get to speak your visions more, and exercise the talents given to you. It's a beautiful opportunity you've been granted. I pray you impact a real and positive change.

These are the dreams which leave me with no true action to take — just a haunting message in the sphere of global connectivity.

Damn these dreams.