Posts tagged with “Reality”

What we see when we look up, like what we see when we look around, is not a well-ordered clockwork ticking its way toward eternity. It is a mix of short-lived illusions, long-lived evolutions, meaningless overlays—the constellations we love, after all, are just superimposed serendipities, stars at vastly different distances seen as one—lucky accidents and unforeseen developments. Some comfort can be found in the indifference of the cosmos to our stories; some other comfort lies in the thought that the cosmos tells stories much like our own.

As if Times Weren’t Unsettling Enough, Saturn Is Losing Its Rings | The New Yorker

Reality never changes. Only our recollections of it do. Whenever a moment passes, we pass along with it into the realm of memory. And in that realm, geometries change. Contours shift, shades lighten, objectives dissolve. Memory becomes what we need it to be.

The Saturday Night Ghost Club by Craig Davidson

I don’t often remember the details of my dreams. When I do, the dreams are so vivid and clear that I sometimes terrify myself with my inability to distinguish between what’s real and what’s conjured up.

Last night, the dream centred on a family member’s memorial that is to be held this weekend. Kind words and gifts a plenty; celebrations will be had. That part felt grounded— real.

But, having the deceased present at their own memorial, in full human form and not dead like in Beetlejuice— I didn’t see that coming.

I was completely unprepared. There weren’t enough chairs. One short. The gifts, instead of being abundant, were lacking. One short. I had no clue whether the eulogy would automatically turn into a roast with the guest of honor sitting right there, or if I’d have to add in some over-the-top sarcasm just to balance things out. One short.

Of course, the dead don’t rise, and conjuring someone through a Sheldon-like Beetlejuice call is unfortunately not a reality. But the clarity of the dream has left me wondering:

What’s stirring in my mind?

What is to come this weekend that I’m not ready for? That I could never prepare for?

What unresolved conversations still need to happen with the dead that I’m unwilling to be a present participant in?