Leave the Brain Alone

I should like to think that some spark of a watcher slips away at night to observe our crazy dreams. Some part of the self attached only to the whirring brain by umbilical coils of recognition of what we are when the brain rambles and stutters along all by itself. I should like to be outside watching that drunken twirling sailor totter and flop through its flabbergasting counter-realities, un-meshed moving parts that demand to be decoded into loosely knit prophesy or the dyslexic fortune-telling of all kinds of flash-fiction. Perhaps better though to leave the brain alone allow it space to exhaust its madcap maladies, while the stars call us out to be what a brain can never be or see. To be then, an awareness of that greater part of self watching the brains mechanical spinning-top dream itself into realms of evermore loopy unlikeliness, while we explore a self-lit luminous universe beyond the ken of the brain-locked sleep of mice and men.