Dreaming. Picture: Twitter
For some weird reason we dream. What is a dream? The dictionary defines it as a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in the mind during sleep. So it means the brain is unable to switch off while in subconscious mode. Are you with me so far? No? Nor am I.
Nerds reckon it’s a question of overload and not unlike a computer, the brain needs to shed some of the garbage (or spam) clinging during waking hours.
Sangomas, religious shysters and shrinks cleverly come up with crazy interpretations swallowed by the gullible dreamer.
The only oke I know getting it right was Joseph with the technicolour coat. Remember, it was he who told the fretting pharaoh his dream meant the land was facing seven years of drought and to inform the farmers to pack pantries with wheat in anticipation of the lean years to come.
A thought suddenly occurred to me whether Rural Development and Land Reform Minister Maite Nkoana-Mashabane had a similar dream, foreseeing bad years ahead during land-grabbing and then bountiful ones when good sense prevails.
Lately, I’ve been dreaming more than ever. This presupposes I’m stockpiling more detritus. Probably like news reports of corrupt politicians, murder, rape, commissions of inquiry into state capture taking an age, photos of Zuma hugging the Gupta brothers, the nonsensical, treasonable and racist utterings of the red-capped ignoramus, ongoing violent protests, taxi killings, train arsonists, global warming and Springbok rugby losses.
The list goes on. No wonder, by the time it’s bedtime, the brain is overtaxed with nothing but detritus.
Then the dreams take over. I’m writing matric exams and can’t answer any of the questions. Or I can’t remember where I parked my car, spending the rest of the dream pacing up and down mountain passes, through dark alleyways and cemeteries. And funeral parlours, selecting coffins with escape hatches.
Until the wicked religious wars and divisive dogma come to an end and crooked politicos are behind bars, replaced with good ones, bad dreams will continue. What would Joseph have made of them?
Any good years ahead, Joe?
Cliff Buchler.
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