Very Vivid Dreams

Originally written October 13, 2015

Every time I close my eyes to sleep, lines and colours spring forth from nowhere creating patterns that appear like pieces of art and architecture.

Against the backdrop of coal black, I see what are often purple lines and figures intertwining with each other, forming objects that are magnificent. Blinking as they are, the colours change from purple to pink to yellow to orange to indigo, flickering endlessly like Christmas lights.

Sometimes the lines form buildings of architectural designs that are nowhere to be found on earth. At other times, the lines appear as dancing fireworks in the night sky. Last night, they formed flowers and plants of diverse colours and shapes, imitating the flourishing garden I had visited hours before.

I wish I can draw and paint my vivid dreams to share the otherworldly imaginations my sleeping mind allows me to see. Unfortunately, just as I am not well-acquainted with the arts, to the same extent the speed by which the blinking lines and patterns change. So even if I can write the things that I see, I could not describe them with enough particularity as to accurately portray them in the minds of others.

The formations change from second to second so it’s not possible to remember exactly how they look. Even when I try to stare at them, they change as quickly as I forget.

Despite my inability to describe them with sufficient particularity, I can reduce these broad descriptions through some deductions. For instance, although colourful, they never resemble an impressionist painting whose contrasting colours are as magnificent. Nor do they bear a semblance with a sci-fi movie shown in a three-dimensional cinema whose special effects make viewers feel as though they are part of the scenes. A dinner at a gourmet restaurant may also be reasonably eliminated as the colours are only for my eyes to see.

The colours look neon lights that change as fast as I never recall them. No words can accurately describe how splendid they look. Each time they create new formations, my jaws drop, awed by the beauty they possess. But they are not just beautiful, they are also magical in the sense that they never imprint in my mind everlasting memory. In a sense, they are for me alone to see and for that precise moment only.

I am saddened by my inability to share my dreams to others. The colours are only for me to see and nobody else. But perhaps, this very inability makes my dreams even more special, for they seem to form a bond that I share with God alone.

The seeming sadness I feel reminds me so much of the famous post-impressionist painter, Vincent Van Gogh. The contrast between beauty and sadness is as blinding, yet I have to go through it all each night. Because of their transience, I feel happy, yet sad. Awed, yet bitter. Amazed, but empty. 


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