The Dream

I dream. Sometimes I think that's the only right thing to do 
~Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

Are dreams a peek into the unknown? I can’t really tell. I was lying sick in my bed on a beautiful April morning and I dreamt these slices of dreams, which stuck like barnacles to each other. There was this deer that walked upto me, from nowhere, pointing to its hind leg, suggesting something is amiss. Unsure of what to do I began to dream-talk to the deer, in a reassuring way, not certain if it understood my language. His actions suggested that the limb needed attention. Why have you come to me, I doodled in my dream? But when I patted the deer, lovingly, it smiled. 

At that my dream broke. I looked into my phone, lying by the bedside, to see the time. A flurry of messages greeted me. ‘I had a minor accident this morning and hurt my leg. Nothing serious except for torn pants and some scratches on my knee,’ read one. I sat up like a befuddled Penguin wondering if there is a thing such as psychic dreaming? Are we connected in a telepathic way? Are dreams guardians of sleep, as Freud said? What is this bond, this union? Makes me reckon if Edgar Allan Poe, that great romantic, was always telling the truth when he said ‘All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.'

Sameer