“Having seen how lucidly and logically certain madmen justify their lunatic ideas to themselves and to others, I can never again be sure of the lucidness of my own lucidity.”
– from Fernando Pessoa’s The Book of Disquiet, translated by Richard Zenith
Most mornings I wake up sure and convinced that I have just returned from the furthest end of the world or have been piloting an enormous jumbo jet whose underbelly, every time, just misses a pointy mountain crest. Some dream nights I lose my courage and am fleeing a gormless cookie monster. Thankfully those briefest of moments post rousing from the deep last bare picoseconds longer than those subatomic particles that have the briefest of lives. I guess the oddest part of waking up from any dream is the surreal and distinct feeling that one was bumped from one dream universe to another rather like electrons jumping between orbital states. Fifty picoseconds into the glorious morning and you’re relieved, “phew”, that WAS only a dream. Thank God! I thought that demon was about to have my heart for lunch! Five minutes later and the mind is completely blank. Astonishing.
PS Tonight, I suppose I go to bed at my own peril.
He skulks amongst us.
Everyone lies. One resists the urge to “A-ha!” for it is customary in civil society to detect the tale and not give the game away. The intelligent mind reverse engineers the story to discern the truth. The intelligent mind is always on guard for he skulks within us.