The Reason for the Dream

And when I awoke I changed my mind about who it was that I had been dreaming of. I guess to my mind, she had fitted my dream a bit more. Her hair was the proper colour and her eyes had been giving. I pondered on the idea of the reason for the dream, and I smiled to let myself know that I couldn't know. And somewhere in the wilderness of the mystery of dream there is subjection. It dares to focus on me, in its tantalising way with a certain imprisonment. And the life of the dream dies somehow in the awakening, it may not proceed into the living day. And in the death of the sleep lives the dream, and in the life of my living becomes the death of my dream. And following from the reason for the dream becomes, the reason for the life, and the answer is still the same. I wonder if nature dreams when it is still and at peace with itself, and if the reality of nature is different from its dream. There are no conclusions, and the mind must follow the spirit and the soul. The mind is just a place of delusion ultimately, that leads us on to knowing what we cannot know. I wonder if that is why the mind must dream. Perhaps it must escape from the reality of the futility of itself, to find itself in a credible place.