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Internal dialogue

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I find it interesting how the voice in our heads can be so loud. Sometimes it’s like we live two different lives, one in the 3-dimensional world and one in the ethereal space between our ears. Both lives playing out simultaneously and each distracting ourselves from the other.

Sometimes they sync and we become a singularly focused person… both lives becoming one in moments of joy, love, anger, or gratitude, as examples. But often those are high and low moments that draw our mutually focused attentions. Most of our lives they seem to be in minor conflict with each other, fighting for our full attention.

I like the moments when my internal dialogue is quiet, and more focused on being present in the physical world, but there are times when this seems impossible. There are times when the internal dialogue is a complete distraction from reality, in a full on battle for attention. When I’m in this space, the internal dialogue usually wins. These are times that I’m more comfortable being alone than in the presence of anyone. Yet, I don’t feel alone… I’ve got an internal voice keeping me company.

This is neither good nor bad, this is determined by context. If I’m thinking of something dark or gloomy, it can be a bad headspace to be in. But if I’m deep in thought and excited about some new learning or ideas, or if I’m creating or writing, then I could be in a fantastic headspace.

My internal dialogue is like a second world, a second life that lives inside my head, and can be on a continuum from fully engaged in the physical world to almost fully ignorant of my surroundings. Both extreme cases can be wonderful, but it seems I live most of my life balancing the two worlds as best as I can.

Comedic Dreams

45 minutes before my morning alarm, I woke up from a dream smiling. At first the dream was like I was watching TV, the stars of the dream all unknown to me, and I was an observer, not a participant. It was a story of two thieves in the late 1800’s, and after escaping with stolen property, one was in tears because he had failed to do his part. The other was consoling him, when they were interrupted by a female pickpocket.

Comedy ensued as she stole items from them while the main protagonist stole them back in a display of slight of hands that would not have been possible were this not a dream. Then they were caught by an inventive farmer and his mechanical, human looking robot, and sent to a jail that was something more like a modern day rehab centre.

Here they all ended up in a scene that was right out of a movie they had all seen, one where a bus outside passes a window and one of them realized that this scene involved a shooter getting out of the bus and shooting up the place. So he warns the others that this is going to happen, just like in the movie, and all of them having seen the movie drop to the floor to save themselves… nothing happens, and one of them, a different protagonist than earlier but somehow the same person in my mind, scolds the person who warned them to drop to the floor, calling him an idiot for somehow thinking that they were in a movie. Others start laughing at the absurdity of this, and I’m laughing too as I wake up.

How does our brain entertain us in this way in our sleep? What kind of mental gymnastics musts our minds do in order to create comedy where we ourselves don’t know the punchline, or don’t see the elements of the dream that amuse us, coming before the funny moment occurs? How does my brain partition the joke creator from the joke appreciator such that comedy can occur?

This doesn’t just happen with comedy, how do we scare or surprise ourselves? How is it that our brains can convince us that dreams are real, and that we must somehow cope with the bizarre and unrealistic issues we face in them. How do we jump back into a dream after temporarily waking up?

I subscribe to the idea that we are made up of many parts. In simple form, part of us wants to work out, while part of us is lazy; part of us wants a second helping of dessert, part of us thinks we’ve had enough; part of us wants to sleep longer, while part of us knows it’s time to get up. Part of us creates the dream, and part of us is a participant in it. But even knowing this, how does part of us share a joke or funny scene in a dream, and the other part not see it coming?