We are such stuff as dreams are made on.
Are you who you are? Or are you what I make of you, what I make you out to be?
Are you just a figure in my dream? And if that is who you are, what are you doing in my dream?
I perceive you with dimensions and controls.
I may give you gifts hoping to please you, But who is it I'm hoping to please? Is it you, or is it my illusion of you?
I may have a photograph of you but if so you are only a two dimensional transparency. I have a photograph of myself but there is nothing to me but a head and half a face.
There are people in my dreams. They have faces and bodies that move and speak to me. Are they real, or illusions, or only what I make of them?
I may dream of you. If you speak to me in my dream how do I know it is really you or just my illusion of you? How do I know it is not really you? Are you really who you are in my dream and not in my illusions about you? Is what I make of you in my dream more of who you are than who you are?
I may sit along the rocky shore, watch the tide come in and think of you. Who is it I'm thinking of? Is it you, or is it just the face and figure of my dream?
Maybe we once did something together. I remember it vividly, I think. But you remember it differently. Or maybe you don't remember it. What was it? The shadows are too dense, the well is too deep.
The illusions of life spin around me like the sun and moon, the seasons and the tides.
You may come to visit. We have supper, tell stories and laugh. We have a good time together. But neither one of us knows who the other one is. Because we don't know who we are.
DB - The Vagabond