Going to sleep the other day, but without being asleep I had one of those weird moments in life in which you question yourself wether life is “really real”, if you know what I mean.
I must admit flying all the way from the Dominican Republic to Madrid makes me much more prone to having this feeling of, I am really here?
But in general, and quite a few times when sitting down at a cafe or at a mall or simply listening to my Ipod and looking at the people who walke by past me, I often get this feeling of being, detached from what is happening now, and that much of what I see and expirenence is in a way a dream.
I occasionally, get the feeling that I’m going to “wake up” and really start expiriencing all that is around me.
I’m not reffering to religion, because I am not religious, I am reffering to a specific feeling in general.
Can anyone relate to this feeling?
If not, has anyone here ever had simialar situations in which you feel certain things around you are “dream like”?
Every once in a while, I’ll examine myself very closely. Not in the mirror (somehow that’s different) but if I’m in my boxers before going to bed, I’d start looking at my various body parts on a whim, and it would just hit me–usually about the same time that I’m holding my foot up to my face and wiggling my toes–that I’m really here. It’s kind of the opposite of what you’re describing, but no less fascinating–seeing, feeling, experiencing myself from up close (ok that does sound supremely squicky), realizing that I’m a living breathing hunk of meat, an actual, substantial, organic machine, really anchors my perception in place, time, and body, just for a few seconds. And then the feeling’s gone.
I don’t, but evidently Calderón de la Barca must have, “que toda la vida es sueño, y los sueños, sueños son” (for life is all a dream, and dreams are only dreams).
I always found that monologue terribly irritating, perhaps because I have never had any kind of doubts about the “trueness” of reality. My perception of reality may be broken (hey, I used to wear glasses, and I know there was a world before I was born and there will still be one after I die) but reality definitely is. Whether it includes me thinking or not (another putz I couldn’t stand)
For those who can read Spanish and haven’t encountered it before: monólogo de Segismundo Translation. For some reason the translation includes a few more verses than the previous link.
Maybe it’s the same thing in different terms, but once in a while, I get the sense that I’m in a movie. Sometimes, there’s even a soundtrack involved (driving through wooded winding roads while listening to Nick Drake always produces this effect.) There’s, as you say, a detached effect, as if I’m observing myself, and at the same time, it’s incredibly relaxing and uplifting. There’s a cinematic sense of “Ah, that’s all right then.”* I just know there will be a happy ending.
*(to steal a phrase from, I believe, Douglas Adams)
I used to feel physically detached from the world when I was going through phases of depression. But I get the feeling that’s not what you’re talking about.
Other times I feel like everything is painted and flat like the setting on a stage. Reminds me of when I saw the making of Bambi, how they painted images of trees on glass and moved them back and forth.
Soon everything shifts back to normal but I’m always left slightly shaken.
The oddest feeling I had along these lines was when I was on vacation a few years ago in Pittsburgh. Everywhere I went, it seemed I saw people who were uncannily familiar. Finally, I decided it wasn’t just me.
God was running out of extras for my life, and had decided to re-use some. I’m just lucky I didn’t see Jack Garner.
I haven’t had the experience of life being a dream. But I have had dreams that were like life. Like driving to work, doing some calculations, putting together a presentation with the results, then waking up and having to do it all over again. Darn it, once was enough. Usually, it’s easier the second time, though. :dubious:
Don’t know what to make of this. Had these a few times about a year or two ago, all at work coincidentally enough. A strange feeling would come over me, and for a few moments when I witnessed the dialogue and actions of my fellow co-workers, it would seem like I was reliving those moments, knowing exactly what they were going to say, like I had already experienced them (Groundhog Day-style) for thousands, if not trillions of times before. The feeling was one of absolute ancientness, terrifyingly mundane carbon copies of every single solitary lived moment. The feeling would leave but I’d feel rather depressed about the whole notion of Nietzsche’s Eternal Return being an absolutely and unavoidable horrifying reality. Then I would just go work with my next student and pretty much forget it.
I get a feeling similar to this sometimes as well. More accurately, for me it’s as though life is a movie, and most of my time is spent as a character with no knowledge that I don’t exist. Then at certain (semmingly random) times, I’ll get a glimpse of the “real” world. I’ll see myself not as the character I’ve been playing for all these years, but as the actor playing the role. Gah, I’ve never been any good at describing these types of things. It’s a really incredible feeling though, pity it only lasts a few moments at a time.
For me, this mostly happens at work. My work is what I do so I can enjoy my “real” life with those people who matter - my husband, my son, my family, my friends. The crap I deal with at work is just that - crap. Largely meaningless in that what I say and do here is scripted and political and designed to allow me to do my job with as little intervention as possible and permits me to earn money to do what I want during the times of day that are important. I try to do a good job while I’m here, but I also try to remind myself that it’s a carbon copy of every corporate job I’ve ever had or could have. The only difference is that I have a little more of an appearance of authority here. That’s it.
I never feel that the world is unreal, but I sometimes wonder exactly how real I am.
There are times when I realize how incredibly insignificant I am, when it hits me that my consciousness and my perception that I’m the center of the universe is nothing but an illusion, created by a biological computer inside my skull, to ensure that I make an effort to keep my body alive long enough to spread my DNA. I’m 1 out of 6.7 billion – there’s absolutely nothing special or unique about my existence. I only feel unique because I’m looking at others from the inside out – if my consciousness could be implanted into somebody else’s mind, I’d feel similarly unique with regards to that new frame of reference.
(another putz I couldn’t stand)