“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute.”
For me, there are two worlds. There is the one that I see and smell and hear and feel. There is the one that I see and smell and hear and feel so much stronger. Of the latter, I see every detail. Every minute person that exists and every murder or act of love that each performs. That world is inside my head. It takes different shapes. It has different names. The people, at times, are from the future and, sometimes from before the 20th century. I don't know them. They live inside my mind. They are mere manifestations of my imagination. I bring them to life with my writing. Time slows down and feels so much more real when I dream and write about what I dreamt. It feels infinitely more beautiful. Sands trickling down an hourglass could not then have held a more enchanting or even morbid quality at the same time.
In the real world, time or even the lack thereof makes no difference to me. If I had but two hours more each day, or even if there were twenty six hours instead of the usual mundane twenty four, I could dream. So much more. I could write and create new and possible worlds. So many more of them. The edge of that sword that struck the assassin would be slowed down and brought to life in sharper reality. It wouldn't have to be hurried into the red blood that would gush out of his tough torso as he decided the battle wasn't over yet. The plans of a revolutionary could become more elaborate because he was to overthrow a communist empire in a new world plagued with wars of every horrifying kind. If only I had more time everyday. Just two hours more.
Since I am a working professional and I could not turn my cherished and dear hobby into a career I passionately loved as I always desired just because I needed to earn, I wish life would someday turn around and say, “Enough. It's time you become a writer as you always knew you were meant to be.”
I would throw the words at my dear life, “But I lack time. When will I think? When will I dream? My desires and dreams are but stoppered by reality.”
Life would say calmly back to me, “Realities can change, can't they?”
If life were to give me but two hours more each day, then each blissful day would I spend in thinking of and weaving tales. In fact, I would begin with knitting together the one great story that would be my first. And that would only be the beginning. It is said that minds become great only when they are attuned to the realities of their worlds. My world, the one I love, is my own mind. I would rather spend two hours more with unreal, more beautiful eras of existence than with the dreadful reality which envelopes this fragile world.
“Man cannot survive except through his mind.”
The mind needs to be honed. The mind needs time to learn. I do too. Two enriching hours. A beautiful novel of my own someday. What more could I ever dream of? My dreams to come true, of course. To give my mind and soul to everything I desire and love; I would really and truly be alive. I would be living the dream.
|Day Dreaming by Linda Apple|