All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe
Every day we wake up, do our daily morning routine — whatever that is — and the rest of the day develops according to what we do in life: work, study, being the parasite of other people, survive, have new adventures, meet new people, etc.
From time to time — and paraphrasing the great Spanish poet and singer Joan Manuel Serrat — “life kisses us in the mouth and colors unfold like an atlas, it walks us through the streets in waves, and we feel we’re in good hands” like a dream come true.
But, whatever you do, whoever you’re, and no matter how many times you have “kissed life in the mouth”, and how many times after that kiss “life has played a joke on you, so one day you wake up without knowing what’s going on” — keeping on paraphrasing Serrat — we all share something in common, eventually one day, either out of the blue or preceded for a period of pain and sorrow, we’ll all die.
So, when that happens, what if life is not but a dream? what if we’re dreaming within a dream, moreover what if this is a recurrent situation in a sort of universal space, a dream within a dream, within a dream, within a dream, and so on an infinite number of times.
Scary idea? well as times passes by, it seems to me that the lives we live, or probably I should say the life I live appears as a dream, fleeting and perhaps recurrent.
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