Some
mornings, in that sliver of time between sleeping and waking, it
feels like Wendall is in the house. Not in the bed; it feels like he
is in the other room and everything is okay. I am
neither asleep nor awake, exactly. I am
suspended in a moment of time that is neither here nor there. Limbo?
I
have read that the length of a dream may last from a few seconds to
approximately 20–30 minutes.
This
particular slice of time feels as long as the blink of an eye or
the time it takes to turn over in bed. I don't believe it is a
dream. I have no idea how long it really lasts, but whatever part of
my mind is conscious must know it is not real because it tries to
hold on to the moment.
Freud's
approach to dreaming is that dreams represent wishes that the dreamer
subconsciously wants to be fulfilled.
If
this is the case, and this makes sense to me, maybe it is a recurring
dream and I am dreaming that I am not dreaming.
The
scientific study of dreams is called oneirology and it overlaps
with neurology.
And that completes today's deep thoughts.
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