If we know what we hate
And we don’t do what we hate,
Then why are we still doing what we hate?
Because we have to? Do we really have to?
I suppose so.
But it doesn’t change the contempt we have for the things we do,
Those things we really hate to do.
There are also the things we would just love to do
And we know doing them will make us happy.
So, what keeps us from doing those things we really love to do?
You say we can’t afford to do them,
That we can’t pay the price.
It just might be.
So what are we doing? What is our life made of?
If it’s neither our desires nor the things we despise!
Is it life?
Is this why we’re here?
A few good excuses and a bunch of proper justifications?
To pretend we are satisfied.
When did we become what we have become?
Was it somewhere between losing faith and false acceptance?
Between the lines of fear and doubt?
Was it for the sake of possible-pleasure-to-come that we killed the joy and sucked it out of every single presence?
And where did all the walls come from?
All the concrete,
All the hard stuff!
When-if I may ask-did we all become prisoners?
The world of dreams of course has NEVER been more realistic and close at hand.
The world of surrealism has NEVER spoken more vividly.
The other night I had this dream;
I was flying.
This is so usual, you might say.
With a twist, I would reply.
I had no wings, that’s it.
During the dream, I started questioning this ability.
Conscious of the law of gravity and the physiology of man’s body, I asked myself:
How am I flying?
Without any wings?
Not a single one!
Then it drew my attention:
The movement of my hands, my legs!
Yes, I was flying by moving my hands and legs.
There was the occasional rise and fall of the altitude of course but somehow, miraculously, I was flying in a very matter-of-fact way.
The closer I would get to the people below, the harder it would be to fly;
Because I would be more conscious;
Of the impossibilities of flying with a human body,
Without any wings!
And with gravity,
But then for a second I would go up and fly high.
This was only a dream though.
A bittersweet experience.
Now I’m more conscious.
I just can’t help but wonder:
Who draws the line between the world of dreams,
And that of the reality.
Who can say I actually woke up?
And that the dream was over?
Who can deny if I’m still asleep?
Who knows at which point we went to bed?
Or if we have ever gotten up?
And then I sang:
Let’s cry now! Let’s shout together;
Let’s fall off the cliff and let go;
Let’s die while we’re still so young;
In our so called prime of life.