Dreaming and not doing lends to more time to crank out writings. Tranquility is the breeding ground I'm talking about. But life doesn't exist in the tranquil, does it? Crises give impulse to action, growth, betterment. Casualties are lost, causing some to live. Stillness, given the second law of thermodynamics of the spiritual things (without Spirit) lets rot fester, cool ponds heat up and stagnate, bright lights and energy dim. It's easy to sleep in the light, but it's hard to write in the dark.
Seems an impossible situation. Can't have your cake, and eat it too. I didn't use to understand what that meant, when I only dreamt.
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