Every time that I look out of my window … and see those damn, amazing, baffling, breath-taking clouds of a sunset … I tell myself, you must be living in a dream.
Who is dreaming this dream? Will we ever know? Will we notice when the dreamer wakes up? Will we vanish?
What happens when we sleep? Are we creating? Where are we dreaming? Where’s our mind and its image?
Did I ever create such beautiful clouds?
Who dreamed first?
And what’s it worth, living in a dream?
I aspire to become rich. But then, when I look at those clouds, it’s so insignificant.
Everything is. They are just up there. It’s a naive thing to say somebody must’ve put them there. Sure. But …
Maybe I feel that those clouds are a part of myself. I want to know what they think, feel.
Could I be the one dreaming this dream?
Tell me, are you real?
Are we sharing a dream?
And if so, can we alter it? It is our dream.
And can I alone alter it?
I stare at them, but I hear no voice answering me.