I wake with starlight still wrapped around my psyche,

as if I had fallen into a portal of ego death,

suspended, formless, utterly aware.

Shapes scrape the edges of my vision

like a fever dream with fingers.

Time folds and blurs,

every past and future compressed into something finite.

For now.

There are other versions of me,

choosing, loving, existing differently.

I feel them flicker beneath my skin,

like a ripple of sameness that is also otherness,

their lives and minds creeping into mine.

We drift between expanses without edges,

trading one reality for another.

I slip between time, between dimensions,

into and out of realms and bodies.

Dreaming, waking, dreaming, waking.

Perhaps it’s all chemicals bursting and breaking,

neurons flashing,

a natural-born DMT trip,

a body forced to believe continuity.

Something in me will never swallow that lie.

We’re all bleeding into spaces we can’t see.

****

I’ve always been mesmerized with the concept of sleep and dreaming. I lucid dream a lot, and I remember details of my dreams for weeks. I wake up feeling the emotions of my dreams, and sometimes it’s really hard to shake that off.

I truly believe we travel to other realms and planes of reality during that time. Which makes me wonder… how do we know what’s truly real? And what does “real” actually mean?

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