Wastrels of the Subconscious

Wastrels Of The Subconscious
By Emma Wesner


I gasped for breath as I woke up from yet another nightmare. All of the stress in my life from school, to work, and problems at home kept plaguing my mind, and I couldn’t even find rest from the day’s problems in my own sanctuary. Trapped in reality, I can’t even dream away my problems of average teenage pain.

What were dreams anyways? Are they the human brain’s way of relieving mental strain?

Maybe dreams are the way the subconscious talks to the conscious side of our personalities, trying to warn us about deep scars of the past being reopened, or signaling that the psyche has taken absolutely all it can take.

Perhaps dreams are merely a mental state of mind, like a screen saver on a computer when it sleeps, or perhaps it is another dimension that we enter.

Could it be that we enter a new world, separate from our earthly bodies, to live another life in another time and place, and find who we truly are? A parallel dimension to our own planet, almost the same and yet not quite, with different creatures, places, and time zones to create new memories, myths, epic stories, and deja vu back in our own world.

Then again, maybe not.

Dreams might be God’s way of giving us clues and hints as to what is to come in our lives, guiding through words, images, and emotions, speaking His mind about our recent actions, and how He feels about our thoughts and state of mind. After all, dreams were usually the way he spoke to many prophets throughout the Bible… Sometimes I wish I could call Joseph, the boy with the coat of many colors, to come down from heaven and interpret my dreams to tell me what God is trying to say, and what the future holds for me.

Maybe Dreams are a combination of Demons infecting the subconscious with thoughts of evil and confusion, causing chaos and corruption throughout the delicate mentality of the human thought process. Creating stress and anxiety on the intellect until we snap, finally becoming insane and unreachable, a shattered image, a hollow, decaying husk of who we once were. Never to be healed until we find peace in our ever impending death.

It is possible that dreams are all of these things combined together, forming an in comprehendible cocktail of mental pressure and release, freeing us from the damage of everyday pain, but at the same time, trapping us in a cocoon of our own thoughts, memories, and worries of the past and imminent future.

Some people can control their dreams, but by means I do not know of. I envy those who can escape into their mind without the torment of stress and nagging fears, who can dive deep into their imagination of whatever they choose to be.

Unfortunately, I am one who cannot control their dreams, and must suffer through the night from falling in and out of consciousness, and watching streams of random images, ideas, information, and memories flash throughout my head, making me even more restless than when my skull first hit my pillow.

Man, I really need to stop drinking so much coffee and eating gummy worms before I go to bed.