It Came To Me In A Dream
I won't lie, I'm falling asleep as I type this. May sleep be my muse.
I remember my mother telling me she liked to sleep. I remember her contented snoring being a comfort to me. I remember the first time I realized that I also liked sleep: I was in early high school and a younger neighbor asked me what I was going to do over summer. "Sleep," I said, and she seemed unimpressed.
Of all the daily requirements of living, sleeping is quite near the top in terms of enjoyability. Rivaled only, perhaps, by eating. No matter which wins overall, sleeping at least holds out as more potentially productive in and of itself. It is a supremely unencumbered creative time.
I used to lie awake beside a boyfriend and listen to him hum in his sleep; composing. I've had many dreams which have spawned stories. My mother used to tell family histories in her sleep. And, at least once, while on the edge of sleep, I began talking about a chicken coop.
Dreams are brain magic. What a strange and wonderful thing to do while sleeping. If humans and so many other animals didn't do it naturally, you could easily imagine it as a power in the pages of some novel.
That is why it is unsurprising to me that certain sleep stages seem to be wellsprings of creativity, according to this fascinating article on Nautilus. In fact, George Church, a scientist known for his work in genomics, also has narcolepsy and says many of his ideas come to him after narcoleptic naps.
Imagine what humans could do if they could harness the creative power of their dreams. Many have tried.
Somewhat fittingly, I fell asleep writing this post. And I dreamed. No great waves of inspiration washed over me this time. No new music or poetry or stories or hypotheses. Maybe tonight. Let's keep dreaming.