I’m at the top of the boardwalk with my nearest and dearest. We’re floating down the coast of Los Angeles. No use of our feet, vehicles or any transport. Just floating.
We’re moving from the local gym to the best steakhouse in town. And we’re all ordering chicken today. As we sit down, the waiter puts a bag of chalk on the table. We chalk up, ready to eat.
As I clap my hands, I find myself into a room full of business associates. It’s an award ceremony to recognise who worked the hardest this year. I immediately clap my hands again, nothing happens.
I turn to the side and a mentor says to me, “No use doing that, you’re chalked out, my friend”. The award ceremony ends, no one in the room won. The host tells everyone to try harder for next time.
I leave the room and for a £2 loan at the reception to take a train home. I’m told to run instead.
So I ran. Then I clap my hands. It’s 6.30am.
I open my eyes. Where was I? I was in the land of the middle. The special place every morning where I’m in a hypnopompic state: neither asleep or awake. The unique time in the day where my subconscious is screaming at me to listen, have faith, and ignore ration and logic for a tiny period.
The beautiful daydream we should never ignore.