One of my fantasies is to visit India in July.
I dream it to be, well, hotter than hell. The upside to that, of course, is less tourists.
I dream it to be dirty, and I dream it to be crowded, and I dream it to be poor. On the other hand, I dream it to be the opposite of those things, too.
I dream of India because I have never been there, and I honestly have no idea what it’s like.
Why dream of India? Fair question, dear reader, but do you have control over what dreams invade your sleep at night? Neither do I, and neither do I have control, really, over what I dream about when I’m awake.
It’s a cliché to say that life’s a dream, but behind the cliché is at least some truth. While I dream of India from miles away, other people have taken the leap to experience their dreams in person. What do they see when they arrive in the place once only dreamt upon? Does the reality live up to the dream, or is the reality simply an extension of the dream – experienced as life, but actually no different from the dream itself?
How does one “experience” the dream? I’ve been places. Not India, but other places. My experiences in these places are now housed in memories. If memories are not enough, I have pictures on my computer to show me that I was there, and these pictures compete with memory. Both inform my experience, but both are incomplete, often providing alternative narratives of what I would like to designate as “reality.” Maybe I should go back to these places to see for myself, but going back is impossible. Perhaps, then, I should just go to sleep. Let the questions of memory and experience and reality fade into nothingness – until the visions of India rise out of nowhere once more, tempting me to create stories of reality from my places of fantasy.
Where do your dreams take you?
“Without a dream you’ll not get anywhere.” – Kofi Annan