DOES GOD DREAM?

“Does god dream?”

That was the question that the truthseeker asked me the night before we arrived. I came to talk to him, but of course, he spoke to me. He did not turn, just stared out of the starboard cupola window, gazing into the sparkling black void.

“Do you think god dreams of us?” the old man asked again. I said I did not know but I don’t think I understood. He hmm’d and mmm’d and stroked his chin and pulled his robe a little tighter around his neck before he spoke again, “I wonder if she sees our faces, warped and changed like mist around her. I wonder if she hears us speak and dreams our dreams and wakes up in a cold sweat and says, ‘ah HA! Tomorrow, I must make it rain.’ …No, I don’t think god dreams of us at all, we are but a speck in all creation, if god dreams of everything she dreams of mostly nothing.”

I wondered if I should ask my question, but the sage seemed so fixated on some distant point I didn’t want to interrupt. I approached and stood by him and I tried to see the star.

“Perhaps god dreams in nightmare,” the wizened priest continued, “Of losing teeth and growing limbs and being chased by wolves. Perhaps every time she sleeps, she thinks she’s late for school. Though why would god choose to suffer? If god dreamt in nightmare, she would not dream at all.”

At length, he turned to me and I thought that he had finished. He seemed to wait for me to speak, but when I opened my mouth, he said, “Why do you think we dream?”

I thought about his question but realised I did not know, so I said we dreamed to stay alive, even asleep we had to think or else I supposed we’d die.

“So, if god lives then she must dream?” the man became excited, “Yes, we dream to be alive. To heal and to learn, to rehearse and fantasise, to remember, to forget, to clean and to rest. I see, but… does god need these things? What could the all-knowing learn? How can the all-powerful rest? Perhaps god does not dream at all...”

I grew tired of his ramblings and I tried to interject, I said at last what I had come to say, that, “Sir, my crew believes we’re lost at sea. They don’t have faith we’ll find her; they think that we should cease the mission and-”

“And what do you believe?” he asked, a smile on his face. “One last thought, and then, please, speak your piece.” I nodded and he turned again to the stars and said, “God’s dreams are lucid, I think that now I understand. Our dreams feel real, but god would make hers so. God must dream of everything so she dreamt us up too.”

My mouth dried up because I knew, but couldn’t ask the question; if we are all but god’s dream, what then when her slumber ends?

I turned my gaze back to the black and at last I saw what he did, a glistening flame burned bright and loud then illuminated another. One by one the points all shined until the black was white. The stars were supernovas and there was no more eternal night.

I stared in awe and realised that we had finally found her. I said we should turn around, but the man insisted: truth must still be found.

“So, what of us?” I asked him, trying not to sound afraid, “Will we really die, or can we all be saved?”

He said, “That depends if god does dream... Let’s ask her when she wakes.”

ANAX

[To read the next part, click here. For part one, click here]
[Fragment first performed at Escape Through Words: Unreality]