The Journey

I’ve been walking through a sleep world. In this sleep world, my dreams have become my daily reality. My reality is specific to me. It is not like yours. If you could step inside of my reality and see what I see and feel what I feel, you would think it is insane. You would not understand why I see and think and feel what I do, especially about myself. You would see it completely differently from me. If I could step inside of your reality, I would think that it is insane too. I would not see it the way that you do.

Have you ever tried to make a friend feel better by convincing him or her that their new ex is crazy and that they can do so much better and that they’re better off without that person? Tried to convince them that there’s nothing wrong with them, that it’s the other party who’s crazy? Yet all the while your friend remains devastated because deep in her heart she knows the “truth”: She is unloveable. Yeah, it’s like that.

If you really knew what I thought and what I felt, you might even pity me. You would see how clearly those thoughts and feelings were really only about myself. I see this now too. Seeing this has only made it worse. When you look under the bed only to discover that not only is the monster real, but it’s yourself snarling back at you, shit gets really real.

You might even try to convince me how untrue my dream reality is…from your reality. But how do you convince someone that reality isn’t Real?

I know why Cypher took the blue pill. I get it. I just want to eat a f$cking steak and have some special, important life to softly collapse back into, as well. I want softness and ease and pleasure. Because out here on the fringe of reality, peeking behind the curtain and glimpsing the hard truths, life is difficult and scary and I can’t even see my hand in front of my face and I’m pretty sure that I’m bat-shit crazy. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

It’s bad enough to know, secretly, that you are the hideous monster beneath your own bed. It’s another thing entirely to drag that terrible, deformed self out into the light of day and expose it. It doesn’t want to be exposed and I don’t want it to be. But that’s what seems to be happening all the same. Events, people, and situations, all of which are of my own creation, are pulling back the covers on my own worst nightmare of self. And I feel exposed. Terribly exposed, raw, and afraid. What’s going to happen to me once they see what I really am? Surely they will drive me out of the town with pitchforks and set me on fire.

But this is a dream reality inside of a sleep world. If only I could wake up, I would see that none of it was true at all. I would realize that the hideous monster is only wearing a cheap, plastic Halloween mask. I would reach over and gently take it off and cast it aside without another thought. And I would bask in the beauty, safety, and comfort of real Reality where monsters are a ridiculous idea that are easily forgot. If only I could wake up.

I’ve seriously considered what it would be like to “take the blue pill” and trade the harsh truths of this reality for an “easier” (I.e.: less confrontational, less self-exposing) life. I can certainly see the appeal. But then I remember what life was like before I realized I was sleeping. I remember how empty the “pleasures,” how meaningless the “purpose,” and how vapid the “connection” was in my life. I remember how hopeless it all seemed. The trouble is, I’m still sleeping, so I can still feel all the same things. But now that I know that I’m sleeping, there’s the chance, the hope, and the prayer that I might wake up. And that is a grueling realization while still living and working and operating within the dream world.

That realization first comes with a burst of hope and promise and energy. Now, at last, things can change. And change, they do. But change means going into the dark places, uncovering the hotbeds of fear, and confronting brutal insanity within your own self. It’s painful and it’s terrifying. At least it seems to be. But how will I ever wake up if I don’t first come to grips with the fact that I really am dreaming, making the possibility of waking up even valid? And how can I ever come to grips with the fact that I am dreaming a dream reality if I don’t truly inspect the fabric of that reality, all the nooks and crannies, and finally see through the false, holographic fabric that isn’t really there?

And then it brings me to the ultimate question: But why? Why do it? Why not just go along with the dream reality in the sleeping world? If it sucks so bad to try to wake up, why bother? I guess I feel like I’m kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place on this one. Truth is, I have nothing to go back to in the sleeping world. Nothing there holds enough appeal for me to throw up my hands and contentedly close my eyes again. But the path out of the dream reality is harsh and real and rocky and laborious. There’s no way to straddle these two worlds for long. You’re either on the rocky path or you’re not, when it comes down to it. So if I can’t go back, there doesn’t seem to be any other option than go forward. So here I am, plodding along, sometimes just standing still and looking wildly about, and these days I’m dragging the carcass of my monster-self along with me, asking for help all along the way to remove that mask that I find so convincingly terrifying and wondering to myself: Will this all be worth it?

And then slowly, without even noticing it, this realization creeps up on me before I even know what’s happening: “My life is effing perfect.” I hear the words coming out of my own mouth, hear them ringing in my mind as they so often do, but this time I see it. I see the contrast. I understand the point. I remember why. They’re not just words bubbling up. They are a sincere belief. I truly feel that way. In the face of gruesome monsters and ugly self discoveries, I feel more genuine appreciation, gratitude and contentment in my day to day life than I EVER felt when I was immersed in sleeping life, even in the best of those times, much less the worst. It doesn’t even make sense, and I can’t explain it, but it’s true. So there’s the difference. In the worst and darkest of times on the wake-up path, I am still inexplicably more contented than the very best of times in the sleep world dream reality. I’m just so used to my new and improved state of mind and being that I don’t even recognize the difference right away.

So, will it all be worth it? My guess is, it already has been.

xo,
cc