They know by studying the brain that we are not “thinking” while we sleep.
If I’m not thinking, then where are the people, places, voices, words, events, and feelings coming from? It’s not exactly like watching a movie; it’s more like an opaque, frenetic cloud that’s really alive.
I’m free in my dreams to sit back or join in, to interact or be quiet without judgment. Waking life is a dream for me. All day, while I’m “awake”, I’m trying to go back to my dream state to remember how I felt, who I saw, and what happened. It feels like there is a whole other life full of etheric information for me there. Waking life feels like just a resonance in a type of magnetic can; the kind you string together.
Where did I go? I know it was a good place because it affects my day, depending on where I went that night.
I’m not saying I don’t like it here, or earth, but the other side does beckon somehow. I’m a bit glad of that for when my body is worn to a frazzle at one-hundred years old, my work is done, and I’ve had the best damn orgasm I can possibly have with someone I love, it will be easy to drift off and say, “My work here is done. I’m out.” My senses and my body still want to drink in all that earth has to offer.
Earth is fabulous, no matter how hard it can get here.