Mosaic

A writer of some renown has said that no organism can be truly sane without dreaming. I have found for me, in my current circumstance, that only when I am able to sleep without dreaming do I feel sane.

I’ve also found that this particular state of sanity comes with a price that I am willing to pay, if only grudgingly. The coin with which I must pay this debt are my memories and clarity of thought.

It has not always been this way. For long ago, a different but same me dreamed great dreams. And that different-but-the-same-me filled my head with knowledge that I employed to build the most intricate thoughts and ideas. Indeed, I was praised by many for the quickness of my mind and the depth and subtly of my thinking. That is what led to my current situation; not the praise itself of course, for it was true enough. I was able to use my mind to great affect, and to my profit, performing incantations and devising schemes and plans most could not begin to understand, much less replicate.

What caused my downfall was me believing too much in my own cleverness, to the extent that I wagered the only things in my life I could not afford to lose on that belief.