Perchance to dream

How do we enable dreaming? When I was younger and had less troubled sleep, I would frequently remember my dreams whether I was an ant circling a mountain, or back in some wretched slasher version of high school that had ghouls coming out of lockers, I dreamed. It defined me, or at least a quarter of my breathing life.

Nowadays I find my nighttime landscape barren. Or elusive. Once or twice a month, maybe, I wake unhappily, struggling to grasp onto fanciful wisps o' the id. I can't describe my frustration at the feeling of surfacing, nor my longinig to submerge my mind and memories in the murky waters where minor gods and demons dwell. If only it were as easy as casting pennies into a well.

So on these rare occasions I will my psyche downwards and draw it back inside of me in search of the knowledge that I am sure is waiting. Each time the surety of recovery drives me to succumb to the sirens below. Some say it is not possible to fish for mermaids, but my quest only ends when harsh slices of light fall upon my disconsolate face.