All ideation, all revelation, all realisation has ceased.
The brain is in delta.
The ego is dead (temporarily),
The memories are present,
Yet, are ever adding to the storehouse in complexity and variety.
The dream world often echoes the same mundane problems that plague me.
So I wonder how can we presume that the ego is dead?
It lives in there somewhere,
It breathes and waits.
To see how we interpret its presence!
Sometimes I am not me, I’m not me, yet, I am me.
In this maelstrom of confusing options,
The dream world takes me through adventures.
Of lands unknown,
Of faces I have seen in my walking state,
Apparently they inhabit the realm of my dreams.
They are the woman with the child on the street,
The man in the taxi rushing through the morning traffic,
The girl in the sweet shop with a broken tooth,
The old woman on the walker taking mini-steps towards her final destination.
I can never fathom how you’re always there,
In every dream of mine,
You co-habit my dreamscape.