I get why Atlas Shrugged

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I always tell people that reality is but a compulsory break from my dreams. It really is. Reality is where I go to greet people, be polite, get an education and feed my earthly body.

As for the rest of my vast existence, it is in dreaming I come to know myself.

And so, this life so beautifully bestowed upon me has been but an ongoing journey to the inner and outer walls of this self I call mine.

Often, I accidentally forget to remember to exit my dreams, and rather awkward situations present themselves to me: “what?.. Yes, I’m listening. Go on…”, as I continue to drift further and further away.

The other day a strange feeling came over me. I was walking, one step at a time, as I was taught, but the further I got, the further away I walked from myself. At various points, I thought of stopping altogether, turning back and changing directions. “Where to?”, it didn’t matter. I was desperate to crawl back into who I thought myself to be, but reality is often what we avoid: I was changing.

In walking, I was entering into unfamiliar ground within myself. A person I had not known nor seen before. A weird glow around a thought I had deemed inconceivable.

I was changing.

I would have cried, were it not the wind. (and the will to translate those to-be tears in words)

But I was changing.

My priorities were changing, my dreams were changing, and suddenly what I defined myself to be had vanished, faded, washed out and soon forgotten. I got lost, and it didn’t matter in which direction I tried to run, for in reality, I was simply standing there.

Disoriented, I shrugged. There must be some power in that, I thought — shrugging.

 

 

 

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