Poetic Reflections: reverie

Have you ever dreamed while standing up? How about while standing down? And how do you know that you aren’t dreaming this very instant? You could just think you’re reading this. Or I might think you’re reading it because that happens to be the dream of any writer, to be read. Maybe you are actually a hopeful figment of my dream. And what if, simultaneously, I were a wishful part of yours? Have you ever dreamed that you were dreaming? And in that dream you had a dream? What if all this talk of dreams causes you to fall asleep and dream?

I might not be real in your world. Only in mine. What if we are each of us alone, dreaming our dreams, living our lives that we believe have substance? What if it’s all a hoax and none of this exists? My words. Your view. Your vision — what if that is but a vision? The fantasy of someone else? What if I am in your mind, and your mind is in another’s mind, and that mind does not exist? Or ceases to?

Oh sure, you can rap your knuckles on your head and hear an echo. Least, I can. But does that echo have an echo? And is there any pair of ears to hear it? You see, I can succumb to astronomical conjectures. I can make myself believe that you’re as subjective as a donut hole. Or even doubt my presence because reality is as ethereal and speculative as fiction, isn’t it?

There’s a single-file line for those who disagree. Next to the line containing those who would like a refund of their penny for my thoughts. I don’t give refunds (there’s a sign on the wall, beside the sign that asks you to please wash your hands before reading).

I imagine what I’m trying to say is that it’s common for the train of thought to leave the station without you aboard. We sometimes get caught up in reveries, sidetracked by musings and idle or minor preoccupations. The worst consequence of a total stupor would be to space out to the extent that you forget to breathe. And then there is the embarrassing degree to which you would drool out of the corner of your mouth.

Seriously, I don’t recommend that you allow it to progress to that level. Maintain some amount of awareness and dignity to avoid walking into trees or poles, stepping on toes, plunging into holes, elbowing the elderly by accident . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Huh? Sorry. I must have drifted off someplace.

Where was I? Uhhhh. Give me a sec to collect my thoughts. (Get back here! Now! I mean it!) Oh yes. In addition to a couple of new poems, one inspired by a captivating forest photo, I present two Gothic selections I’ve been saving (okay, one was published in an E-zine called Ghosts And Haunts).

Ah, chuckleberries! I think I’ll write a poem about somebody who lives almost entirely in their thoughts (I’ve got to stop doing that).

May the verse carry you away on a “head trip” of intrigue or wonder or astounded confoundery. And best of luck finding your way back!