On Dreams of Flying and other realisations of power
Tuesday, August 20th of 2019. 31 minutes past 6:00 am.
I don’t believe in the metaphysical aspect of dreams; even philosophically, the sceptical hypothesis (as weird as it can get) has more explanatory power for them than the idea of dreams being premonitory.
Dreams are likely a simple, small reflection of my psyche; they help us organise ideas and emotions. They serve to reinforce neuro-pathways.
My dreams are always vivid and elaborate, and lately, they have been empowering.
In them, I have been at the top and bottom of the mythological universe; I’ve commanded armies of men and monsters; I’ve met people whose power scares me into becoming more powerful.
And I have, as is imperative, become more powerful than anything threatening me of those I care about.
In these dreams I am the Devil, a Devil in terms of controlling those who seek my favour and anything necessary to accomplish or achieve my outcomes. My dreams remind me that there is a severe cost to not being what I am in them, and that is the surrender of potential glory to the clutches of lassitude.
These dreams remind me that my indulgence of human anxiety and the laziness that follows it is like walking when I can fly. A choice that I am entitled to make, but one that is sub-optimal to my pursuits of happiness and power. You see, suffering might not always be a choice, but the degree I apply it to my circumstances determines its effect on the entirety of my life. That walking is also a choice, but my wings will take me farther than my feet can.
Then these dreams of flying. And now, I can fly… yes, I can fly, and the euphoria I experienced upon waking up has me ready to do the impossible, to contemplate ideas most find incoherent.
Good morning, indeed, brothers and sisters.
— The Devil Unbound, For Peyton J. Dracco
