I wish dreams were reality, and reality was a dream. Reality and the dream world create an interesting paradox. In reality, I experience things physically through the five senses; I live in a physical, external world. Right now I'm sitting in a physical chair and physically typing on a computer. Yet the largest struggles in reality aren't physical or external, they're internal. Although the outlying effects of my internal struggle may be physical (such as addiction), my battles are fought inside my mind, where I stand small against a large, evil willpower. In dreams however, my battles aren't manifested in what I fight inside my mind; in my dreams, I fight my battles physically. I'm no longer battling myself, instead, I fight the bogeyman. I no longer stand small against a large, evil willpower, my struggle is now whether or not I'll be able to swing from the mast of this pirate ship, to the cliff of that island. My battles are still a challenge, but if I put on a face of courage and pick up that gun, I'll be able to conquer the unseen danger hidden below me in the foggy swamp. My dangers aren't internal, I'm living an adventure with me the hero. In the safety of my bed I can be Robin Hood, Crocodile Dundee, and a pirate all in the same night. Valiant effort and brute strength combine to swing my sword at the enemy, and then, with my foes vanquished, I wake back up to my dreams.
