Lost in the Distance

Madness put to good uses

Hey! Do you remember your dreams?

Ever since I was a young child I’ve been blessed - or maybe cursed - with a vivid recollection of my unconscious thoughts.

I can clearly remember the first time a nightmare truly frightened me awake. I cried to my mother as I retold the story through a veil of tears. The unreasonable fears of a mind not yet fully formed, but understandably leaving a lasting impression.

I can also recall the thrill of exploring the endless worlds of imagination waiting every night. Less creating a utopia and more strapping in for a wild ride beyond my control.

There’s a nostalgic flavor to it all.

A gift from the sandman or a sleeping butterfly and our long-term desires for an ideal world.

My stories like Besnowed carry the weight of both on their brittle wings.

On Dreams

Maybe it’s because I’m the son of a former lawyer, but I’m fixated on ensuring discussions don’t spiral down a reductionist drain of semantics.

Before diving under the covers into a more surreal realm, there are two major ways I want to define dreams:

1. The visions we experience while in a state of REM sleep

2. The goals we set for an ideal situation or world

The difference may be obvious and the wordplay fun, but what’s more significant to me is when the two overlap.

When our dreams let us see our dreams as a functioning reality.

More often than not, the image is fuzzy and the details are blurred, but the emotion is clear. A realization in harmony with the music of our mind.

What can be becoming what is, if only while we sleep.

I find that uncontrolled creation to have an intoxicating allure. Infinite beauty on an endless horizon within our limited grasp.

On Nightmares

The unfortunate opposition is then the flawed. Our darkest thoughts given form in a haunted hour. Panic at the very gates of hell.

Fury and fervor rising from the shadows, obscuring even the faintest glimpse of divine light.

Even if I know the tricks of the trade, the force behind such a vision always wins the war. Cold sweat and a shaking neck bring all sensation to a stall against the familiar feel of an uncomfortable bed.

While the anxiety of the moment is intense and often overwhelming, the power is inspiring. Raw emotions and indiscriminate fear played out in real time - and I am unable to look away.

I don’t think the ideal dreams would be nearly as sweet without understanding how low the flawed depths of nightmares can fall.

Waking Life

When it’s time to wake up the jumbled mess of the night before needs to be organized into some kind of sense. Defining the line where truth is neither a perfect ideal nor a fundamental flaw.

A spectrum of colors.

Light broken and fractured.

Unimaginable beauty beyond the context of the frame.

In that space lies an unmistakable truth: our dreams, their inspiration, and powerful motivation.

My mother always encouraged finding meaning in the uncontrollable reality found only in dreams. She would invite us to share those special stories, the lives we created with our unconscious minds.

From that first time she consoled me as I cried into her arms to the many journals she would give as gifts to me and my sisters, she encouraged exploring and expressing our unbound imaginations.

Growing up, I neglected to show appreciation for the comforting care and endless effort she put into it all. A neglect that has undoubtedly grown into a longer lasting regret.

So I find it important to highlight how much she has guided my thoughts and helped spark inspiration for my writing over the years.

Dreams as portals to worlds unknown, tastes and colors as something more than semantics alone.

But before these words shift towards a darker direction, I’ll stop the meter and plainly state my intention.

Next week I’ll begin opening up more about my next project and the work going into a new story: Maneus.

I should know whether or not I got into the next season of Buildspace by then, but regardless of the outcome I plan on pursuing the draft and getting everything published.

My aim these past few weeks was to create a bridge of sorts, connecting the feeling of Besnowed to the emotions of Maneus.

After all, dixit the 20th century philosopher:

Sanity is a madness put to good uses;
Waking life is a dream controlled.

-George Santayana

I’m looking forward to exploring how true the aphorism turns out to be.

Until next time.

Cheers,

John

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