Someone asked me yesterday, whether I thought that the soul leaves the body when we’re asleep and dreaming.
I’m not here to get metaphysical, or super spiritual, or even hotly theological, but I don’t think it matters. Sure, dreams can be lovely, scary, significant and weird. And yes, they take us spinning through the universe we constructed from our memories, but in a way, they do the thing they’re programmed to do, recharging our brains and resetting our emotions.
I’ve been napping a lot recently. Today, I fell asleep clutching a cushion and listening to Just a Minute on Radio 4. Before long, I was swirling through my imagination (in ways that I instantly forgot) until I snorted awake to the sound of Nicholas Parsons chiming ‘Join us again, the next time we play... Just a Minute...’ along to the theme-tune Chopin Minute Waltz. Whatever it was that I had been dreaming had been good, familiar and emotional. I woozily headed for the kitchen and asked myself how I felt.
Still half-asleep. The water from the tap burbled over the glass and drenched my hand in cold, rushing water.
As it happens, I believe that the soul, the body and the spirit do all stay attached and intertwined while our minds invent our dreamworlds for us. Whether it’s down to too much cheese (if such a thing there can be, that is) or a kind of thinness between the physical and spiritual realms through which God himself can whisper, I don’t always know. What I do know, is that somehow my dreams sustain me and fuel me, and I often wake up feeling, and being, very different. And that’s nice enough to make me want to do it again.
Speaking of which... is that the time? Yawn.
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