Dreaming...

Science Fiction night. There was an article in the Science New York Times about dreams, and how people are very biased in interpreting them. I tried to write an article about that, but I got a little off topic. Ah well, it was still very entertaining.

(please forgive the typos, this piece was written in haste)

Whenever I overhear a human saying something along the lines of, “I’m going to do this because I dreamed it,” I laugh myself sick. I pity you poor souls. But I try not to feel too sorry for you, because it’s only a dream after all. Right? You’ll just brush it aside, forget it before you wake up, laugh about it with friends, make up parts to connect the scattered bits you can remember. Huh, welcome to my world, over looked, under appreciated, and never ever thanked. Believe me, I’ve been at this job for millennia and I can count the number of thankful dreamers on one hand (I should also mention that I have five fingers, just like you humans).
I folded my wings, landing carefully on the window ledge. The window opened noiselessly at my touch and I dropped inside. Seriously, security these days. The carpet was rough under my bare feet. I walked over to the bed and its sleeping occupant. Out came my note pad as I consulted the list, let’s see for Mr. Adrian Jole, oh wow, he gets to dream about his traumatic years in the military. Poor guy. But who am I to question the orders from above? I leaned over Mr. Jole as he lay unconscious and set a finger on his forehead. That’s true, I haven’t told you who I am yet. Flicking my finger, I started to write. As I finished each word, it sank into the sleeping man’s skin and vanished. Well, now I’ll tell you. I’m the Dreamweaver. Or the Storyteller, or the Singer, or the Dreamwalker, or any other romantic name you want to call me. I’m also the slave of a fallen angle. You got complaints about your dreams? Bring them to him, he’s the boss, I’m just the messenger.
I turned on silent feet and stalked back to the window as the last word sank into Mr. Jole’s skin. He’ll start dreaming any moment now, and I have places to go. Climbing onto the window sill, I jumped out into the air, the eagle wings on my shoulders spreading wide to catch the breeze. I can see you thinking already. Wings, angle equals handsome guy in white with a gold circle over his head. Nope. Don’t even start thinking of me like that. My wings are sable, sable and brown. My face isn’t pleasant, and I can’t remember ever running around with a bubble-blowing hoop over my head. No, I’m a different kind of angle, the kind the priest’s don’t like to mention.
I landed on the next house. Entered the bedroom. Well isn’t she a pretty little lady, too bad she gets to dream about rotten tomatoes attacking her in the bath. I set my finger on her bronze skin and start writing. Oh, and just in case you forgot my comment about being unthanked, don’t. I mean think about it. How many times have you said, “wow I was really glad I had that dream last night”? How many times have you heard somebody say that, huh? You call dreams funny, weird, scary, nightmares, absurd, etc., but rarely will somebody be thankful for a dream.
Well there might’ve been one guy, but he lived a long time ago. Remember the pharaoh who dreamed of skinny cows eating fat cows, dancing corn cobs and such? Yeah, he’s gotten pretty famous among the religious circles. Well then there was the guy who said, “that dream means there we must prepare for famine”. I bet that guy is thankful for the pharaoh’s dream, because it meant he got work, glory and all that follows. But don’t go thinking he’s some sort of prophet who can tell the future and decipher dreams. He was just a good people person. It stands to reason that if a guy is worried about famine, he’ll dream about famine, and listen to anybody who can say how to stop a famine. Why will a guy dream about what he’s worried about?
I finished the rotten tomato dream and left the apartment. Cool night air ruffled my feathers as I soared over the city. Well… people tend to dream of uncomfortable subjects just because a certain fallen angle likes watching you humans squirm. Yup. My master is the real mind behind all dreams. He thinks em up, then sends me out to implant them in your little minds. When I say he’s a fallen angle I don’t mean he’s an all around villain, ‘cause hey, you get good dreams sometimes don’t you? The best describing for the boss would be ‘bored’. He was banished from Heaven and kicked out of Hell because he was having too much fun. So now he just sits between the worlds, thinking up dreams and watching what happens when he sends me to stick them in little human brains.
I find it funny, how much importance you humans place on dreams. And yet, you always twist the dreams so everything works out in your favor. If you fix the answer, how is the dream telling your future? It’s more like, you making excuses for your own future. I gave this one fellow a dream, he was run over and killed by a stampede of wildebeest. So what does he do? He decides that it means his ‘poor’ self will be obliterated by the mountain of gold he will gain if he visits Africa and sets himself up as a king. I never found out what happened to him, but last I saw he was on a plane for Congo. It’s quite sad really, you humans place so much trust in dreams. Visions you only half remember, and all thought up by a bored angle and surgically implanted into your minds by yours truly.
I landed on the next flat. Well would you look at that, this fellow sleeps outside on the roof. I’d think my boss would give him some dream about falling. I check my notes. Nope. Tomas Gordon will dream that he is in love with a cat, dressed in a cloths line, and styles his hair with marmalade.
Listen to me now as you have never listened before. A bored angle is the most dangerous thing in heaven, hell, or anywhere in between. I’ve heard the most recent theory about dreams. “Dreams nothing but the brain’s response to random impulses,” say today’s scientists. You go on believing that. I’ll go on traveling the world with my notebook and my master’s orders. Yup, dreams are random brain waves, totally, sure. Yes, it’s much better for you humans to believe that. I’m not sure your little heads could handle the truth.