Echoes of the Self: Identity and Morality Within Dreams

 

Echoes of the Self: Identity and Morality Within Dreams

    Dreams remain an enigmatic and fascinating phenomenon in the study of consciousness. They are an endless topic of inquiry: what exactly are dreams? Why do they sometimes appear vividly and with great detail, while at other times they seem fragmented or are barely remembered at all? Are dreams simply random cognitive processes intensified during sleep, when conscious control of the mind is diminished?

One notable case in sleep research is the 1964 experiment conducted by Randy Gardner, who voluntarily remained awake for 11 consecutive days. This case provided compelling evidence for the necessity of sleep in maintaining both cognitive and physical functioning. Gardner’s condition deteriorated as the experiment progressed—he experienced memory lapses, mood disturbances, and significant impairments in motor coordination. These symptoms support the idea that sleep acts as a restorative process for the body and mind. Extended wakefulness appears to disrupt the system, reinforcing the need for cycles of rest in order to regain optimal functioning.

Metaphorically, sleep—and dreaming—may be viewed as a form of transgression, a step outside the bounds of our waking rationality. Much like certain aspects of life where moments of disruption can foster creativity and insight, dreams may offer a space where the unconscious mind explores scenarios without immediate consequence. Yet, even in dreams, the self remains intact.

On a personal note, I have occasionally experienced vivid dreams in which I was aware of dreaming—a state often referred to as lucid dreaming. During these episodes, I attempted to act freely within the dream, including considering actions I would never undertake in waking life, purely out of curiosity. Interestingly, even within the dream state, I found myself restrained by my moral values; I was unable to perform actions that conflicted with my sense of ethics. This suggests that even in the absence of real-world consequences, our core identity and values persist and influence behavior.

Beyond the anecdotal, I am someone who often reflects on the possible meanings of dreams—when I can remember them. I find value in analyzing their content, searching for symbols or messages that might offer insight or guidance. Regardless of whether these interpretations are scientifically grounded, I believe that dreams have personal significance and deserve attention and care.

Toni Font, Aberdeen 21/06/2025

Swiping Away the Fantasy World

  

Swiping Away the Fantasy World 

“Something in him had shifted”

    For weeks now, Garret Thorthon had been dreaming of a house—an old, weathered place tucked away at the start of the street where he’d grown up. The dreams came uninvited, vivid and oddly persistent. He couldn’t say whether the house was real or simply imagined, a construct pulled from some random dusty corner of his childhood mind.

It wasn’t the kind of house that demanded attention. Set back from the frist line of his street, hidden behind a tangle of fruit trees and broken wood, it lurked like a half-forgotten memory. The yard was unkempt, the structure tired, as if time itself had started to forget it. Garret remembered—or thought he did—that it stood just behind the Stevenson family’s tall, modern building. But that only added to the confusion: the Stevenson place was a towering five-story home, newer, louder, and grander than anything else on the street. Could the house from his dreams have even survived behind it?

During the day, the image of the house would flash into his thoughts like a flickering candle. At first he didn't paid too much attention to it. But one afternoon, with time to spare and curiosity gnawing at him, he gave in. He opened Google Maps, searched for his hometown street, and switched to Street View.

And there it was.

The house was real. The same sagging roof, the pale front windows now framed with new white PVC. Above the second floor, the faint outline of painted letters emerged like a ghost from the past: Miller’s House.

Garret's heart quickened. The dream was based in is real chilwood true life.

As he stared at the screen, a stream of memories returned like whispers on the wind—beginning faintly to then becoming louder and clearer.

He was around ten again. The air was thick with the smell of rain. He and his neighbor friends—maybe siblings, maybe not—had gathered outside after a storm, when the snails came out of hiding. They played with them in the muddy yard, marveling at the glistening trails and curling shells, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

There was laughter. There was magic at this point.

He remembered seeing an old man under one of the fruit trees. They spoke—about what, he couldn’t recall. That part of the memory had faded like words in a dream. But the feeling remained fresh: warmth, wonder, the unshakable joy of childhood curiosity.

Garret’s young world back then was made of stories. Talking animals, kingdoms ruled by children, witches in candy houses (Hans & Gretel). He adored The Wizard of Oz, especially the idea of being swept away by a tornado into a land where rabbits wore waistcoats and lions could speak. That fantasy had been his truth—every bit as real as the brick walls and schoolbooks of his daily life.

But then, suddently it came a memory that never faded.

It returned slowly, at first just a shadow. But then it sharpened into terrifying focus.

He had wandered closer to Miller’s House. On the porch stood a woman—older, though now he guessed she was barely forty. From behind a rusted cage, she pulled out a rabbit. With a swift, practiced motion, she snapped its neck. Then, as if it were nothing more than a carrot or a loaf of bread, she pierced its skull with a metal hook and hung it beside others—silent, swinging, still.

Garret had watched it all.

He was certain she hadn't seen him. Or maybe she had. It didn’t matter at this point.

Something broke in him. Something delicate and unseen.

That was the moment the fantasy ended. No tornado came to carry him away. No rabbit spoke a word. The worlds of Oz and fairytales vanished like mist under sunlight.

In their place came the real world—where rabbits don’t talk, they die.

And Garret, standing there in the silence of that memory, knew that he had crossed a threshold. The wonder had not vanished completely, but it would never return in quite the same way.

That was the moment Garret was swiped away—not into a fantasy world, but out of it.

Toni Font, Aberdeen 11/05/2025

The Synesthesisist Lady

 

The Synesthesisist Lady 

“Juliet wasn’t expecting what she found.”

    What a beautiful day it was in the small town of Greenstone. Almost everybody found an excuse to go outside and enjoy the weather. Well, even without an excuse—it was the 7th of March. The last week’s weather had been dreadful, and now the warm sun and crisp air seemed to align perfectly to let people forget their worries for a while. But one lady was not in this mood. Juliet.

Juliet was diagnosed with synesthesia, a peculiar condition of the senses that made her occasionally taste colors, see sounds, smell images, and other strange sensory crossings. Clear days like that sunny Saturday tended to heighten her experiences. As she gazed at the bright blue sky through her window, a bitter taste spread across her tongue when her eyes fell on the crumpled, empty envelope resting on her bedroom desk. Where was the letter? she wondered.

The letter had been from Nancy, a peculiar friend who clung to old-fashioned habits like sending letters instead of text messages. Juliet had burned the letter earlier that morning—its words had reeked of something foul and sticky in her senses. The letter asked her to visit Nancy to see the new jumper she'd bought yesterday. But Juliet knew better. The jumper was an excuse. Something else was going on.

With a sigh, Juliet grabbed her coat. If Nancy needed her, she would go.

As she walked through the sunlit streets, Juliet couldn’t shake the aftertaste of the letter’s words. There was something off about them—a sharp, metallic edge that clung to her mind. It was not sadness or heartbreak. It was something stranger.

When Juliet arrived at Nancy’s old brick house, the front door was ajar.

"Nancy?" Juliet called out, stepping inside.

A faint sound buzzed in her ears—a sound she didn’t hear but saw as a shimmer of crimson, like the hum of electricity. The scent of lavender soap filled the air, but beneath it was something else. Something cold.

She found Nancy sitting on the living room floor, clutching an old notebook. Her hands trembled as she turned the pages.

"You came," Nancy said quietly, her voice brittle. "I didn’t know who else to call."

Juliet knelt beside her. "What’s wrong? This isn’t about a jumper, is it?"

Nancy shook her head, her breath quickening. "I found this—this diary. It’s not mine. It was hidden under the floorboards." She handed it to Juliet. "And... there are things written in here that no one should know."

Juliet opened the worn leather cover. The words on the page instantly flooded her senses—a rush of copper on her tongue, the scent of burning wood, a flash of violet in her vision. The handwriting shifted and blurred as if it didn’t want to be read. And the content—impossible things.

"These dates," Juliet whispered. "They're in the future."

"I know," Nancy said, her voice barely audible. "And one of them is today."

Juliet's pulse quickened as she scanned the latest entry:

"March 7th: She will come. She will see. And the door will open."

As the last word slid across her vision, Juliet heard a low, vibrating hum coming from the kitchen. Her synesthesia flared wildly. The hum tasted like rust and shadows.

Nancy clutched her arm. "Do you hear it? I mean—see it?"

Juliet nodded, rising to her feet and following the sound. The kitchen seemed normal at first glance, but the hum grew louder as she neared the pantry door.

Without thinking, Juliet reached out and turned the handle.

The door swung open to reveal not shelves of food, but an impossible corridor stretching into darkness. Cold air brushed her face, carrying a smell she had never encountered before—a smell that was not meant for this world.

"What is this?" Nancy whispered, eyes wide with fear.

Juliet didn’t know. But every nerve in her body told her one thing: The diary hadn’t been a warning.

It had been an invitation.

A wave of temptation washed over Juliet—an urge to step inside, to know the unknowable. But deep within her, a sharper instinct cut through the allure. She didn’t want her life to be consumed by something she couldn’t control. She had fought too hard to shape her own path.

Juliet slammed the pantry door shut, the hum fading instantly. She turned back to Nancy, pressing the diary into her hands.

"We’re not meant to follow this," she said firmly. "Some things are better left unknown."

Without waiting for a reply, Juliet left the house, the sun warming her skin as she hurried home. She climbed to her attic and tucked the diary into an old chest, locking it tight.

She didn’t destroy it—some knowledge should be kept safe. But she knew one thing for sure: she would not let it shape her future.

And whatever lay beyond that door would have to wait—perhaps forever. For better or worse, she had become the diary’s guardian. It was her duty now to protect it, to keep it hidden from prying eyes and dangerous hands. The weight of that responsibility settled quietly on her shoulders, a silent promise that no matter how much curiosity clawed at her mind, she would never open that door again.

Toni Font Bardolet, Aberdeen 18/03/2025