I wrote this profound thing at work about dreams and reality. Sometimes dreams are realer than reality, which makes reality feel dreamlike, which leads us to do the types of things we do to try and wake up. It was longer and more elaborate, but I lost the piece of paper.
My identity came from a dream. Before I was born I came to my father in a dream and told him to name me Ishaiyahu. He spared me the yahu. The dream world is not constrained by the social pressures of the waking world.
I was born with the caul over my head after 72 hours of labour. I was doing just fine thankyouverymuch.
When I was a kid and I realized I was dreaming, I would find a stick. There was always one of the about the size of an oldstyle policeman's truncheon lying on the ground right next to me. I would take this stick, and hit myself on the head, not so hard as to render myself unconscious - because that would just put me in another level of dream I would have to escape - but hard enough to shatter my dream reality. As soon as I did this the landscape would start tearing apart, falling towards the sky. I was not immune to this reversal of gravity, and as I fell upwards I would find a corrugated tin tunnel in the sky. It was just wide enough for me to crawl through. On the other side was my bed. I would crawl into my bed, and into my body, and then I would wake up. This made me think my bed was awesome. I did this almost every night for years. When I had a nice dream, I would postpone hitting myself on the head and go do fun things. But then if the world started flooding or some demon appeared, I would just hit myself on the head.