Perhaps you forget hundreds of dreams in a night,
mind as an ocean of surging dream electricity flowing
through neurons unhindered by consciousness.
Perhaps you go through lifetimes while sleeping, silent
truths spooled out before you. Here, choose. Here, choose.
Here, choose. Giving definition to your days by picking
doors at night. Right door or left? Upstairs or down?
Dreaming is made of random data packets passing
through the human mind. Sometimes the scattered nature
of these transmissions give insight by new arrangements
of the data.
Suppose dreams are parts of a life your mind is
remembering before it ever happens to you. Suppose they
are the results of delayed information processing,
sorting important things arbitrarily. Yes No Yes No Yes.
Impulses that we will never know about, except in sticky
remainders of story lines when we wipe sleep from our
Deja vu. Prescience. Reminded of every instant that you
already know about. You know it because it has all been show to you in little blips of scramble-pasted sequences, jumble-piled lifetimes. Little glimpses of your truths, rearranged. (Rearranged the way you will never let yourself see them).
Suppose these things are important, and we lose them readily. Golden, even when through a glass darkly. Beautiful electricity.