The World Behind My Eyelids

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They spool out like reels 

From a summer film festival.

Comedies, romances, mysteries

Thrillers, adventures, docudramas,

And the occasional campy horror flick.

They startle me awake.

I catch my breath.

Pulse settles back

To what passes for normal,

And the sights and sounds recede.

When, in nap, or night, or meditation 

They flicker once again to life,

These Hi-Def vistas behind my eyelids,

I know that they are not “real.”

But then again what is?

When starring in these private movies,

I laugh, I cry, I bleed,

I rejoice, I despair 

Occasionally with people

That I recognize -

Other times with apparent strangers

Who seem nonetheless 

Somehow intimate.

What is the searing difference,

I ask, between these worlds?

One is dominated by trivial realities.

Should I drive that far? 

Should I cut my hair?

Was the meeting today? 

Do I really care?

The other swaps mundane for sublime.

Can I fly that high? 

Swim that far? 

Scale that mountain?

Touch that star?

Both worlds are constructed

In the mystery of my mind.

A shifting set of stimuli,

The neurons do engage,

To swirl mind and body

From ecstasy to rage,

From lethargy to energy,

From love through ennui 

The nerve ends do determine 

Each clear reality.

So which one is the real reel?

Do I awake from each

Convinced the world 

Around me marks the center of my life.

While other “me-s” awaken,

In another place and time

Convinced that they’re 

The “real deal” 

And the world just dreamed

Is mine? 

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