Sleep is such a curious thing. When we collapse into bed, we walk into a land full of mystery and wonder. A world that only our own minds have ever ventured into. Every restful night we go to sleep, eager to know of the world we will soon enter. We, the dreamers of the midnight hours, will soon discover what the time of the darkness entails for us. A land discovered, full of our hopes and dreams. It becomes our perfect world, our perfect life. Adventure and excitement awaits our wanting imagination. Floating, dreaming, we are at peace for a time. We are content.
Sleep is such a curious thing. Our minds procure images that reality cannot make true. We see what we wish in our dreams that the actuality of our waking hours cannot give. We cherish those fleeting memories of a different world, a better place than in which we may live. But in those wishful thoughts, we should be wary.
Even though the night cares for we, the tired sleepers, it harbors our fears, and our secrets. The night hides them from our view during the sunlit hours, but unleashes their hell-houndish ferocity upon the unwary wanderers of the dream land. We cower in fright, the monstrous creatures of our souls threatening their razor-edged claws right before our watching eyes. We dream of fear as well as hope. A fulfilled fear is dreamt, a fulfilled fear is unchained in the prison of our minds.
Nevertheless! Not every field upon this new world is farmed by fear. There are those who do not dream, the most unfortunate of all those who sleep. They dream neither of fear nor happiness. They rest in black, thick open space, neither floating, or standing, falling nor climbing. They are suspended in time, as minutes, even centuries pass them by. To us, the avid dreamers, this sleep is terrifying. It is as if we are no longer living, no longer enjoying the gift of life. The life that allows our minds to bloom bright with imagination, fun, horror, excitement, magic, tragedy, adventure. This stone, cold, sleep is death itself. It does not breathe, or move, burn bright nor glow in the night sky. It is frigid. It is terrifying.
I would soon rather face the monsters of my own mind, born free from the secrets within my soul, than to face nothing. Than to have nothing that makes me human.
I venture into a land full of mystery and wonder, a world that only I know, a world full of life and magic, trolls and sea monsters, fairies and dragons, hell hounds and war, aliens and adrenaline, death and fear. Sleep is such a curious thing; we dream of happiness, fear, and unfortunately nothing. There is no control over it. It is a land undiscovered. We can only summon the bravery, the courage to allow our minds to be voyaged away from reality into the depths of the uncharted sea of our imagination.