7Dialogs - Dialog 3

Dialog 3: Dreams and Reconstruction/Construction

The morning sun was just coming up over the hill to the east when Synergos found Haplous at their usual spot next to the footpath. Haplous was watching the play of light on the ancient stone walls of the grain store as the monastery cat searched for insects among a nearby drift of lavender.

“I had the strangest dream last night,” Synergos said, settling onto the worn stone bench. “And it’s made me wonder about something we discussed yesterday.”

“Oh?” Haplous smiled.

“Well, we discovered that all our experiences – everything we can examine or remember – comes through this looping process. But what about dreams? Surely we’re experiencing something while we sleep?”

“Tell me about this dream that’s prompted such questions.”

“I was trying to organize the monastery’s accounts, but the numbers kept changing color and floating away.” Synergos smiled ruefully. “Rather typical of my concerns finding their way into dreams, I suppose. But it felt completely real while I was experiencing it.”

“And when did you experience it?”

“While I was asleep, of course! Though...” Synergos paused. “I suppose I’m remembering it now through this looping process we discovered. But surely the original experience happened during sleep?”

“What makes you so certain of that?”

“Well, everyone knows we dream while we’re asleep! There’s plenty of evidence – people talking in their sleep, dogs twitching as if running in their dreams...” Synergos stopped, noticing his mentor’s gentle expression. “You’re suggesting I examine this more carefully, aren’t you?”

“Let’s think about it together,” Haplous said. “You say there’s evidence. Shall we look at it systematically?”

“Well,” Synergos began, “first there’s the fact that people talk in their sleep, often about things they’re dreaming.”

“Interesting. And what exactly does this prove?”

“That they’re experiencing the dream while sleeping! They wouldn’t speak about it otherwise...”

“Are you sure? Think carefully about what we actually observe in such cases.”

“We observe...” Synergos spoke slowly, “someone making sounds or movements during sleep. And later, they might report a dream that seems to match those actions.”

“Yes. And what assumption are we making when we connect these?”

“That the dream experience is happening at the same time as the movements?” Synergos frowned. “Though now that I say it that way...”

“Go on.”

“Well, we’re assuming the movements prove they’re experiencing the dream right then. But...” He paused. “The movements could just be the brain at large operating, couldn’t they? Like how Brother James’s fingers can play complex passages while his mind is elsewhere?”

“An interesting comparison. And what about your example of dogs twitching in their sleep?”

“I assumed they were experiencing dream-running. But again...” Synergos leaned forward. “We’re only actually observing physical movements, aren’t we? The brain at large could be activating motor patterns without any need for...”

He stopped, an expression of dawning insight on his face.

“Without any need for what?”

“Without any need for the kind of experience we get through looping! But then...” Synergos hesitated. “When do we actually experience dreams?”

“To answer that, I will give you an example of a dream that could not have possibly been experienced while asleep. When we agree that this one dream could not have been experienced while asleep, even though it was a collectible, you will find it more plausible to consider that all dreams happen like this.”

“How could this be? What dream are you talking about?”

Haplous touched his wooden cross thoughtfully. “There’s a famous dream reported by a scientist named Alfred Maury that demonstrates something fascinating about this construction process.”

“Oh?”

“He was sleeping one morning when a piece of the bed’s headboard fell and struck him on the neck. It woke him immediately.”

“And let me guess – he dreamed about being struck on the neck?”

“More than that,” Haplous said. “He says that before awakening he had dreamed about the terror, he had witnessed various scenes of massacre, he had appeared before the Revolutionary tribunal, he had seen Robespierre, Marat, Fouquier-Tinville – all of the most infamous figures of that terrible era. He had debated. Finally he was judged, condemned to death, led in a cart through an immense crowd to the Place de la Révolution. He climbed the scaffold, the executioner tied him to the fatal plank, it tilted, the blade fell, he felt his head separate from his body – at which point he awoke to find the headboard had struck his neck.”

“But...” Synergos looked puzzled. “The whole sequence, all of those events, witnessing various massacres, the tribunal, etc., that would’ve taken a long time. Perhaps he laid there for a while, before awakening?”

“No, it’s out of the question,” Haplous explained. “His mother happened to be at his bedside, and saw it happen. She confirmed to him that he woke up in an instant.”

“You mean... the dream wasn’t happening during sleep at all? The brain constructed this whole narrative at the moment of waking?”

“Actually, he did not necessarily create it that fast – we can talk about that in a moment – but certainly it was after he awoke, because the entire narrative led seamlessly to the blow to his neck and he could not have predicted that.”

“That’s very interesting,” Synergos said. “And I suppose it stands to reason that when he awoke he found himself remembering the strike of the blade, the scaffold surrounding him, he remembered being carted there, etc., in backward fashion. Just like we would do in normal life.”

“Precisely!” Haplous said. “The recollection of dreams works just like the recollection of everything else; it is just that the basis it uses for the recollection is different. We will get to that in a moment.”

“There is something else I should know about first?”

“Yes, it’s important for you to know some background. When Freud wrote about Maury’s dream, he made a fascinating statement. He said ‘only one assumption seems possible’ – that the dream must have been composed in the instant of waking.”

“Only one assumption?” Synergos frowned. “That seems unlike a scientist of Freud’s caliber, to not consider alternatives.”

“Yes, in fact, the passage is so fascinating to me, for being out of character for Freud, that I have committed it to memory, as I sometimes like to quote it in classes to students. He wrote it exactly like this: ‘Since the dream is produced in a coherent form, and completely fits the explanation of the waking stimulus, of whose occurrence the sleeper could have had no foreboding, only one assumption seems possible, namely, that the whole richly elaborated dream must have been composed and dreamed in the short interval of time between the falling of the board on cervical vertebrae and the waking induced by the blow.’”

Synergos leaned forward, resting his temple on his hand. “Eliminating all other possibilities without due consideration does seem out of character, for such a probing mind.”

“Indeed. And that is what is so particularly interesting about his statement – except for that brief caveat he presents this assumption that Maury’s brain somehow composed this entire narrative almost instantaneously as though it were the only logical possibility.”

“But surely that would require some sort of superhuman mental speed?”

“Exactly!” Haplous said. “So what made this seemingly impossible explanation appear to be the only possible one?”

“Well...” Synergos spoke slowly. “I suppose it seemed impossible that the dream could be emerging for the first time during recall itself. After all, Maury felt he was remembering something that had already happened.”

“Yes, the only reason Freud and Maury both concluded that the brain was moving marvelously fast was due to their assumption that it was remembering something that had happened before. Without that assumption, the brain was not working fast at all, just at its normal speed of recollection.”

“The solution becomes clear!” Synergos said. “The narrative emerged at a completely normal pace during recall. There is nothing superhuman about the recollection speed at all, once we challenge the idea that the process of recollection necessarily needs a prior experience in order to produce a result... But I’m wondering, on what basis does it produce this result?”

“Aha! This raises an interesting question. When we remember what happened a few minutes ago, how does that work?”

“Well, I suppose...” Synergos hesitated. “The brain must keep some kind of record?”

“Consider something from nature,” Haplous suggested. “How do we know the history of the Earth?”

“Through fossils and geological formations... ah!” Synergos said. “The processes themselves left traces! There’s no separate record – the evidence is just the natural result of what happened.”

“Rather elegant, isn’t it? Instead of needing some special archive...”

“The current state itself contains the history! Are you suggesting our brain works the same way? That instead of creating separate recordings...”

“What would be more efficient?”

“Using its own current state as evidence of what just happened?” Synergos said. “The brain already maintains an internal model for everything it does. Those same patterns and states could serve as the basis for reconstructing recent events...”

“But there’s something fascinating about this reconstruction,” Haplous continued. “Have you read Thomas Hardy’s ‘Jude the Obscure’?”

“I... no, I haven’t. I didn’t know your interests extended to English literature.”

Haplous chuckled. “Well, there’s one passage I always quote to my psychology students. A country girl named Arabella complains about her pigs leaping out of their sty the day after she had bought them, saying ‘This comes of driving ‘em home. They always know the way back if you do that. They ought to have been carted over.’”

“And this relates to reconstruction how?”

“Think about what she means. If the pigs had been carted, their feet wouldn’t have felt the different textures of the paths, their muscles wouldn’t have strained on the uphills or relaxed on the downhills, their ears wouldn’t have heard the sounds along the way...”

“Ah!” Synergos said. “Their brains were using all their different senses to create a complete picture?”

“Yes! And our brains work the same way. When reconstructing experience, they draw on everything – not just vision and hearing, but balance, body position, temperature, internal sensations, emotions, goals...”

“All working together to support the reconstruction?”

“Exactly. I call it ‘interfunctional complementation’ – how all these different functions complement each other, making the reconstruction more robust.”

“And in normal waking life,” Haplous said, “this reconstruction works remarkably well, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, when I think back to walking here this morning, I can recall the whole experience – the sound of my footsteps, the morning chill, even my thoughts about the day ahead...”

“Because your brain is reconstructing from rich, coherent traces left by actual experience?”

“And using all these different functions to support each other!” Synergos said. “The memory of the cold air matches the memory of pulling my monk’s habit tighter, the sound of the bells matches my memory of checking the time...”

“Yes. When reconstructing from traces left by real experience, all these different sources of evidence align naturally.”

“Because they were all part of the same coherent experience!” Synergos paused thoughtfully. “But we were talking about dreams, right? In that case, isn’t the mnemonic basis different?”

“Certainly, we will get to that in just a minute. But first let’s think about something more basic. How does your brain know what happened in the last few minutes?”

“Well, I suppose it must keep some kind of...” Synergos looked uncertain. “Some sort of record?”

“Consider something interesting about nature,” Haplous suggested. “How do we know about the history of the Earth?”

“Rather elegant, isn’t it? Instead of needing some special archive...”

“The current state itself contains the history! Are you suggesting our brain works the same way? That instead of creating separate recordings...”

“What would be more efficient?”

“Just as a paleontologist reconstructs past events from present evidence?”

“Yes! Instead of creating separate recordings, the brain could just examine its current state...” Synergos paused. “But what does this tell us about dreams?”

“Well,” Haplous said, “what state would the brain find when it first wakes up?”

“But before we consider what the brain finds upon waking,” he continued, “let’s think about what’s happening during sleep itself.”

“Well, we know it’s some kind of rest...”

“Consider your heart for a moment. Does it ever rest?”

“No, it beats continuously from birth until death.”

“Yet it manages to maintain itself through its cycle – contraction and relaxation. Each part of the cycle serves a different purpose, but together they let the heart work continuously.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” Synergos said. “Sleep isn’t just rest – it’s a different phase of operation?”

“Yes. Think about maintaining the monastery. You don’t repair the bell tower while it’s in use, do you?”

“No, we need to stop the bells, set up scaffolding...” Synergos stopped. “Are you suggesting sleep is like that? A maintenance phase that’s completely different from normal operation?”

“And notice something interesting about dreams,” Haplous added. “People can recall them after any sleep phase, not just REM sleep...”

“Which would be strange if we were actually having experiences during sleep, wouldn’t it? But if sleep is truly a maintenance phase, completely different from waking operation...”

“Rather like trying to have normal monastery activities while the scaffolding is up and repairs are underway?”

“It would be chaos!” Synergos laughed. “So the brain during sleep isn’t having experiences at all – it’s doing something entirely different?”

“It would try to make sense of whatever state it finds...” Synergos said. “Even though that state wasn’t created by actual experiences!”

“Just as a paleontologist reconstructs events from whatever traces they find...”

“The brain reconstructs what it thinks must have been recent experience, using whatever traces it finds in its current state! That’s why dreams can seem so real – it’s using the same construction process we use all the time!”

“Though perhaps,” Haplous smiled, “we should consider why the brain would do this so... unquestioningly?”

“Let me share an analogy,” he said. “Imagine an expert who can examine marks in beach sand and tell exactly what kind of dancing took place – whether it was waltz, tango, reggae...”

“Like how our brain reconstructs recent experience from its current state?”

“Yes. This expert is remarkable – after any dance party, they can tell you precisely how many people danced, their movements, even their relative weights, just from examining the patterns in the sand.”

“And they’re always right?”

“When looking at traces left by actual dancing, yes. But...” Haplous paused. “Suppose one night, instead of dancing, maintenance workers come to the beach. They drag heavy trash bins around, rake the sand, move tables and chairs...”

“Ah!” Synergos said. “When the expert examines those traces...”

“They still interpret everything as dancing. It’s the only activity they know to look for. So they might say ‘Well, this was clearly three people doing an unusual reggae, sometimes walking backward while spinning...’”

“Because they’re trying to make sense of maintenance activity patterns as if they were dance patterns! Just like our brain trying to make sense of sleep maintenance traces as if they were experiences?”

“Rather like what happens when we construct dreams, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes! The brain finds these traces left by sleep processes, but like your dance expert, it only knows how to interpret them as experiences...” Synergos hesitated. “Though that raises an interesting question. Why would our brain be so... naïve about this?”

“Well, we quickly learn not to take them as literal experiences. They don’t harm our survival.” Synergos said. “And in fact... throughout history, haven’t people found great value in dreams?”

“How so?”

“Well, here in the monastery, monks often speak of finding spiritual insights in their dreams. And I’ve read that artists, scientists, even craftsmen have found new patterns, new solutions in their dreams...” Synergos looked thoughtful. “It’s as though their strangeness helps us see things differently?”

“Yes! Consider what happens when our ‘naïve archaeologist’ tries to make sense of these maintenance traces...” Haplous touched his wooden cross. “The very act of forcing them into familiar patterns creates unexpected combinations.”

“Like when Brother Thomas dreamed of bells floating in the kitchen garden, and it led him to realize something new about the harmonics of our bell tower!” Synergos said. “The strange combinations in dreams actually help us break free of our usual ways of thinking?”

“And cultures throughout history have valued this, haven’t they? Using dreams for inspiration, insight, even healing...”

“So not only was there no reason to develop a more skeptical construction/reconstruction process...”

“It seems that this ‘naïve’ reconstruction has become an important tool for human creativity and understanding,” Haplous said. “Another example of how nature’s apparent limitations often turn out to serve profound purposes.”

“You know,” he said then, “the history of science has taught us something interesting about nature’s apparent limitations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when scientists first studied the eye, they thought they’d found a flaw – there’s a blind spot where the optic nerve passes through the retina.”

“I remember you telling me about that. But it turned out to be necessary for how the eye works?”

“Yes! And the same pattern appears again and again. What seems like a limitation often turns out to be essential to how something functions.” Haplous smiled. “Like our ‘naïve archaeologist’ approach to reconstruction.”

“Ah!” Synergos said. “What seems like a flaw – accepting whatever construction emerges without questioning it – actually enables all these creative insights we get from dreams?”

“And perhaps more importantly, it keeps the process simple and reliable for its main purpose – reconstructing actual experiences.”

“Rather than adding complex mechanisms for questioning every construction... Sometimes the simplest solution is the most elegant?”

“Nature often finds such solutions,” Haplous agreed. “What appears as a limitation to us often conceals a deeper wisdom.”

“You know,” Synergos said thoughtfully, “this helps explain why dreams have such particular characteristics...”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, when our ‘naïve paleontologist’ examines the brain’s state upon waking, what exactly is it finding there?”

“What do you think it would find?”

“Well, there would be traces from the previous day, wouldn’t there? But they’d be... decayed somehow, less distinct?”

“Yes. And what else?”

“All those maintenance processes that happened during sleep – they must leave their own marks.” Synergos frowned slightly. “And then there’s everything happening as the brain re-establishes its internal model, putting itself back into the world...”

“Rather like examining a beach where the night’s maintenance work overlays the fading marks from yesterday’s activities?”

“Yes! And when our brain tries to construct a narrative experience from all this...” Synergos said. “That’s why dreams mix things from different times! And why familiar things appear in impossible combinations!”

“Go on.”

“The decayed traces from yesterday explain why dreams often involve recent events and concerns, but altered somehow. And the maintenance marks... when our brain tries to interpret them as experiences, of course they create strange patterns!”

“And the process of re-establishing the internal model?”

“Is that why dreams often involve questions of where we are, who we are, what we’re doing? Because part of what we’re constructing from is the brain’s own process of reorienting itself?”

“Rather elegant how it all fits together, isn’t it?”

“You know,” Haplous said, “think about what happens when these elements combine.”

“You mean how our brain’s need to find familiar patterns interacts with the decayed traces, maintenance marks, and reorientation?”

“Yes. When you glance at clouds, what happens?”

“Well, we see shapes – animals, faces...” Synergos paused. “Because our brain naturally tries to match patterns it knows, even to random forms?”

“And in dreams?”

“Ah! The maintenance marks might have nothing to do with actual experience, but our brain still has to interpret them in terms of familiar things! And when it combines these with the decayed traces from yesterday...”

“And the process of re-establishing its model of the world...”

“That’s why dreams can feel both familiar and impossible at the same time! The familiar parts come from our brain finding patterns it knows, while the impossible combinations come from trying to make sense of maintenance marks and re-orientation...”

“Rather like finding a cat’s face in one cloud, a ship in another, and then trying to tell a story about how they relate?”

“Yes! And it explains why dreams can seem so meaningful – because our brain is doing what it always does, finding significant patterns, even in traces that weren’t created by actual experience!”

“Though perhaps,” Haplous smiled, “that very process of finding meaning in unusual combinations is part of what makes dreams valuable?”

“Something else is curious about the way our brain works,” he said. “When you try to remember where you put your keys...”

“Well, I might test different possibilities. Could they be in the garage? Maybe on the kitchen table?”

“Yes, you can have varying degrees of uncertainty when testing such hypotheses. But when you recall a dream?”

“Ah!” Synergos said. “When I say ‘I saw a cat in my dream,’ I’m not 90% certain or 50% certain – I simply saw a cat!”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Our recollections of dreams come with no degrees of uncertainty...”

“But why? Surely when working with such unusual traces – maintenance marks and decayed states – shouldn’t there be more doubt?”

“Remember our dance expert. When they interpret maintenance marks as dancing, do they say ‘I’m somewhat confident this was reggae’?”

“No, they simply pronounce what kind of dance it was!” Synergos paused. “Are you suggesting our brain works the same way? That it doesn’t naturally assign degrees of uncertainty to its initial recollections?”

“Think about it evolutionarily. Most of the time, when recalling recent experience...”

“It’s working with actual traces, so it doesn’t need to express uncertainty! And there was never any pressure to develop that capability for dream recall...”

“Another example of parsimony in nature?”

“Yes! The brain simply presents these initial recollections as fact – whether they’re from real experiences or from the states it finds upon waking...”

“There’s something else curious about dreams,” Haplous said. “Have you noticed how meanings can sometimes... invert themselves?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in a dream, sometimes being very hot might represent something cold, or heights might represent depths...”

“Like when Brother James dreamed he was in a desert, but later realized it was about feeling frozen during the winter prayers? But why would that happen?”

“Think about how our brain processes meaning in general. When you understand ‘tall,’ don’t you also understand...”

“‘Short!’ They’re connected somehow...” Synergos paused. “Are you suggesting our brain has some way to flip these meanings?”

“Like a kind of marker that can attach to a component and invert it,” Haplous said. “During normal experience, this helps us understand opposites. But in dreams...”

“When our brain is trying to make sense of these unusual traces, these markers might get activated in unexpected ways?”

“Yes. And notice something interesting about strong feelings in dreams...”

“Sometimes love appears as hate, or fear as attraction! Because these markers can flip the emotional components too?”

“Rather efficient, isn’t it? Instead of needing separate components for every opposite...”

“The brain just needs components and these markers that can invert them! And when it’s constructing from maintenance traces...”

“The markers can combine with components in ways they normally wouldn’t,” Haplous said. “Creating those characteristic inversions we find in dreams.”

“You know,” he said then, “these temporal puzzles we see in dreams – they appear in many other experiences as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, consider what happens when someone has a near-death experience. People often report their entire life ‘flashing before their eyes’ in just a moment.”

“But that would be impossible, wouldn’t it? Just like Maury’s dream – you can’t experience years of life in an instant.”

“Unless...”

“Unless the experience isn’t happening during those moments at all!” Synergos said. “It’s being constructed afterward, just like dreams?”

“Yes. And there are even more common examples. Have you ever had the feeling of déjà vu?”

“That strange sense that you’ve experienced something before, even when you know you haven’t? It can feel quite eerie.”

“Think about what’s happening there. Your brain finds some pattern match with a previous experience...”

“And constructs a feeling of familiarity, even though the actual match might be quite partial or indirect! Just like how it constructs dreams from whatever traces it finds?”

“Or consider when someone says something, and you exclaim ‘I was just thinking about that!’”

“Are you suggesting we weren’t actually thinking about it before?”

“Sometimes we were, certainly. But other times...” Haplous touched his wooden cross. “Our brain might construct the sense of having had that thought, based on current patterns matching something in our recent state.”

“Rather remarkable how many experiences involve this kind of construction,” Synergos said. “It’s as though our brain is constantly trying to make sense of things by matching patterns and reconstructing experiences – whether they actually happened or not!”

“Let me tell you something interesting about these life review experiences,” Haplous said. “During moments of extreme danger, people report seeing their entire lives – but now just consider that for a moment, and think about what their brains must actually be doing at those moments.”

“Well, if they’re in real danger, surely their brains would be focused entirely on survival?”

“Exactly! Does it make evolutionary sense that in a life-or-death moment, the brain would take a leisurely tour through old memories?”

“No, of course not...” Synergos paused. “In fact, it should be doing the opposite – shutting down everything except the most essential survival functions!”

“Rather like what happens during sleep maintenance,” Haplous said. “And when the person later tries to recall those moments...”

“The brain finds a gap in terms of what it can interpret, as the state was so radically extreme! But still, just like with dreams – it has to construct something from whatever traces it finds?”

“Yes, but notice something fascinating about these constructions. Unlike dreams, which often seem strange and impossible, these are real, they just do not correspond to that moment in time, but rather pertain to many moments of one’s entire life...”

“The life reviews feel completely real and coherent!”

“And why might that be?”

“Because...” Synergos spoke slowly, “during sleep perhaps the pacing and patterns of the maintenance processes can be interpreted as episodic experience, but in this case the pacing is just too fast or different for our ‘archeologist’ to make any sense of them? So instead, it finds many actual memories, many from long ago and assigns them to this point in time?”

“It seems that our archeologist operates under an imperative, at all times, to come up with something in terms of episodic memory,” Haplous said. “And it often can – but not always, notably after many, but not all, types of unconscious states, and other moments, like alcoholic blackouts. When it simply comes up empty handed.”

Synergos leaned forward. “And people often say, ‘My entire life flashed before my eyes.’”

“Yes, but this is only to say that for some moments after that highly charged event, the archeologist is for some reason given free rein to freely recall anything from life and assign it to that moment. But the framework has limitations in its current state; it does not have an explanation for why this should be so, it merely points out that it happens.”

“That could be an area for research, I suppose?”

“Absolutely... But the framework is not so widely known at this point; changes in mindset like this take time to take hold.” He continued, “And there’s more. Consider hypnagogic experiences – those vivid flashes just as people are falling asleep.”

“I’ve had those! They feel so real at the moment...”

“Yes, and people assume they happen during that last moment before sleep, or sometimes in the morning just as we wake up. But think about our framework – what’s the most parsimonious explanation for those flashes as we are falling asleep? That the brain creates vivid experiences while shutting down, or...”

“That we construct them as our vision is coming back online after a moment of inactivity! It makes sense. If it went offline and there was no actual visual activity in the preceding moment, the looping procedure could certainly invent something, right?”

“And what about déjà vu? That eerie feeling that you’ve experienced something before. Doesn’t it seem like we could include that as well in our list of temporal puzzles? How can you simultaneously experience something and feel you’ve experienced it before?”

“Unless...” Synergos said, “the feeling of familiarity is being constructed in the moment, based on some pattern match?”

“Yes! This goes back to our overview and focus. At some point the brain gets an idea, either in the overview or in the focus that something is familiar. Some people’s brains are more adept at the next step than others, but what happens is they start to do pattern matching, and the brain is led by the Déjà vu feeling. So they naturally keep shifting between one detail and another, or considering the overview, but always finding something within that feeling that it’s familiar.”

“Yes, it aligns with what we were saying about templates, in a way, where the brain can look for things and find them.”

“Precisely, and there’s something very interesting that takes place here. The details do not necessarily have to be all the same. They only have to have some underlying structure that is similar, among their components. A sort of isomorphism that exists on the component level. Some people are better at this than others, and they can go from one isomorphic group of components to another, almost like a person crossing a river, who’s adept at finding steppingstones.”

“And as they do, they naturally get that uncanny feeling, wondering how that place could be so familiar, when they know it’s not!”

A moment of shared silence passed between them.

Haplous gazed up into the branches of the oak above them. “And then there’s the common experience of someone mentioning something and you saying ‘I was just thinking about that!’”

“Which could be another construction? Our brain finding some match in its recent state and constructing the sense of having just had that thought?”

“Even the phenomenon of two people claiming to be humming the same tune...”

“I’m following you completely – all of these involve some kind of temporal impossibility if we take them at face value! But they all make sense if we understand them as constructions!”

“In a sense, doesn’t it seem like this list acts like a series of experiments all confirming the same hypothesis?”

“Yes! Each one showing how our brain tries to make sense of present patterns by constructing experiences that seem to have happened earlier... Even when those experiences couldn’t possibly have occurred in the way we recall them!”

“You know what strikes me about all these examples,” Synergos said after a moment. “If we only had Maury’s dream to consider...”

“Yes?”

“It might seem like a special case. But seeing all these other phenomena...”

“Go on.”

“They’re all different situations, with different triggers – danger, sleep onset, familiar places, unexpected coincidences. Yet they all show the same pattern of temporal impossibility!”

“And what does that suggest?”

“That we’re seeing something fundamental about how our brain works,” Synergos said. “It’s not just about dreams. Any time the brain has to make sense of an unclear or gap-filled state...”

“Yes?”

“It constructs experiences and places them where they ‘must’ have happened – even if that creates apparently incongruous combinations, as in dreams, or impossibilities in time, as in those moments of ‘life flashing before one’s eyes!’ It does seem as though the brain has an imperative to come up with episodic recollections.”

“And note how it does not doubt that those recollections pertaining to previous subjective experience of the same sort,” Haplous added. “The brain knows that the situation was not experienced in ‘real life’ but it firmly believes that they were experienced subjectively, during sleep, or during the split seconds of a near plane crash, for example.”

“I just thought of something,” Synergos said. “As long as the construction is not incongruous or totally out of keeping with one’s knowledge about themselves, any construction then would basically be accepted as fact, right?”

Haplous nodded. “It seems that if it is not incongruous, like a strange dream, or if it doesn’t pertain to a moment that we know for sure we were unconscious, or we otherwise know some other reason that it could definitely not have occurred, we are probably going to accept it at face value. Go on thinking it really occurred, just as we recollect it. That we never question it unless the temporal impossibilities become too obvious to ignore.”

“And there’s another thing,” Synergos continued. “Suppose I recollect an event right now that happened five years ago. Five years ago my mindset might have been very different from what it is today. Perhaps I actually saw it differently and experienced it differently than I am today, because I am seeing it as though through my present eyes, when I recollect it.”

Haplous laughed. “You see, it’s what I always say, you don’t need to be a famous novelist or a neuroscientist to come up with and appreciate these sorts of reflections. Joseph Conrad once said it, in Heart of Darkness, ‘No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence – that which makes its truth, its meaning – its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream – alone.’”

“Yes! That’s similar to what I was talking about. It seems like we could be experiencing things in a certain way, at a certain time, and then later, when we recall them, our archaeologist...”

“It is going to construct them according to how it experiences things at that new moment,” Haplous said. “And he said a similar thing in Lord Jim, ‘There are periods in life that have a certain character. A flavor. A tone.’ Normally, we are not necessarily sensitive to these changes. As long as the traces are entirely compatible with the same memory traces.”

“I suppose it’s a bit like written Chinese,” Synergos said. “They say that even though there are a number of dialects that are unintelligible to one another, they can all read the same written language.”

“That’s fabulous,” Haplous beamed. “I’m going to use it when I teach the framework from now on at the university.”

“But backing up for just a second, if you don’t mind,” Synergos said. “How is it that we suddenly got so sure that we don’t dream while we sleep, even though, I believe, most sleep scientists tell us that we do dream while we’re asleep and they associate dreams with things like REM waves.”

“Consider what they’re actually observing. What do we know for certain about REM sleep?”

“Well, the eyes move rapidly, brain activity increases...” Synergos paused. “And if you wake people during REM sleep, they often report dreams.”

“Yes. And notice something interesting about that last point – when do they report these dreams?”

“After waking up!” Synergos said. “Just like all dreams... we’re only ever examining the construction, aren’t we?”

“And what about people afflicted with what is called REM Sleep Behavior Disorder (RBD), who act out physically during sleep – striking out or running in place?”

“Some would say that proves they’re experiencing a dream right then. Fighting or fleeing in their dream...”

“But remember what we discovered about the brain at large. It can generate complex motor patterns without any need for conscious experience, can’t it?”

“Ah! Just like Brother James’s fingers playing complex passages while his mind is elsewhere! So these sleep movements...”

“Are just the brain at large operating during sleep. And when the person wakes...”

“They construct a narrative to explain these movements! Just like how Maury’s brain constructed a whole guillotine story to explain the headboard striking his neck!”

“Exactly. And notice how this explains why people who act out during sleep often report dreams that match their movements...”

“Because their brain naturally constructs a story that makes sense of whatever traces it finds – including the motor activity! Just like split-brain patients creating explanations for actions they can’t consciously recall!”

“There’s something else about dreams that makes more sense now,” Synergos said. “Why they often feel both familiar and impossible at the same time.”

“How do you mean?”

“In my dreams, I often recognize places and people, but they’re somehow... different. Like I might be in the kitchen garden, but it’s also somehow my childhood home...”

“Think about what we said about how the brain works with components.”

“Ah! When it’s constructing from these maintenance traces and decayed states...” Synergos said. “It has to use the components it knows! Just like how it interprets anything else?”

“Yes. And notice something about these components in dreams...”

“They can combine in ways that would be impossible in real life! Because the brain is just trying to find familiar patterns in whatever traces it finds?”

“Rather like our dance expert trying to interpret maintenance work as dancing?”

“Yes! That’s why dreams feel so real in the moment – because they’re built from real components we know. But they can also be impossible because...” Synergos said. “The brain is combining these components in ways that could never happen in actual experience!”

“And remember what we said about the brain’s tendency to accept its constructions...”

“It doesn’t question these impossible combinations! It just presents them as experience, even when they defy logic?”

“Dreams are rather like those clouds,” Haplous said, watching a cloud drift and change shape in the morning sky.

“How so?”

“Observe how that cloud seems to shift from one form to another. First it looks like a castle, then a ship...”

“Ah! Like how in dreams, things can transform – a monastery corridor becomes a street from childhood, a brother’s face becomes my father’s...”

“And why might this happen?”

“Because the brain is working with these traces that aren’t fixed like real experiences? The components are free to recombine in new ways as the construction continues?”

“Yes. Think about our dance expert again. If the maintenance marks shift or blur together...”

“The interpretation would have to shift too! The ‘dancers’ might seem to change their movements, their identities... Just as dream elements flow and transform!”

“And notice something about this fluidity...”

“It feels perfectly natural while we’re experiencing it! The brain accepts each new combination just as readily as the last?”

“Rather like water finding new channels as it flows?”

“Yes! Because it’s all just the brain doing what it always does – finding patterns in whatever state it encounters, moment by moment.”

“Have you noticed how physical sensations often appear in dreams?” Haplous said, pulling his monk’s habit closer against the morning chill.

“Like when you’re cold and dream of snow? Or hear rain in your dream just before waking to discover it’s actually raining?”

“Yes. And given what we understand now about construction/reconstruction...”

“The brain must be incorporating these real sensations into its construction! Just like how Maury’s brain incorporated the headboard striking his neck?”

“Though notice something interesting about when these sensations appear in the dream narrative...”

“They’re often at the end, aren’t they? Like how Maury’s guillotine came at the end of his dream...” Synergos paused. “Because that’s the sensation that’s actually present when the brain is doing its construction!”

“And yet how does it feel when we recall the dream?”

“As though the whole sequence happened in order, leading up to that moment! Even though we now know the brain likely started with that final sensation and worked backward to create the story?”

“Rather like a mystery writer who knows the ending first...”

“And constructs the perfect sequence of events to lead there!” Synergos laughed. “Our brain is quite the storyteller, isn’t it?”

“Remember what we discussed about how the brain draws on multiple functions when reconstructing experience?”

“Yes – like Arabella’s pigs using all their senses...” Synergos said. “Ah! Now I see the real significance of that example. When our brain looks back upon waking, it’s checking all these different areas?”

“Exactly. Just as in normal recollection, it examines traces from every available function...”

“But in this case, there was no coherent experience linking them all together! These traces might be leftover from yesterday, or from maintenance processes during sleep...”

“Yet notice something about the construction...”

“It’s still remarkably rich! In my dream this morning, I remember not just seeing things, but feeling temperature, balance, even emotions...” Synergos paused. “Even though these sensations couldn’t have come from actual experience during sleep?”

“And remember what we said about certainty...”

“Yes! The brain doesn’t assign degrees of uncertainty – it simply produces the construction from whatever traces it finds in all these different areas!”

“Rather like our archaeologist...”

“Who has to construct a coherent story even when the evidence comes from different times and processes! No wonder dreams can feel so vivid, even when they’re built from such disparate traces!”

“Have you noticed how time works in dreams?” Haplous said.

“You mean how sometimes a dream seems to take hours, but must have happened in minutes?”

“Yes, but think more carefully about it. When the brain looks back over these traces upon waking...”

“Ah! It has to somehow organize all these different traces into a sequence!”

“Like our archaeologist...”

“Who has to determine which events happened before others! But in dreams, these traces aren’t from real sequential events at all...”

“No. Yet the brain must still construct a narrative from them...”

“So it arranges them in whatever way makes the most sense? Like how Maury’s brain constructed a whole sequence leading up to the guillotine?”

“Yes. And notice something about this temporal construction...”

“We completely accept it! Even when it involves impossible time compressions or strange loops...” Synergos paused. “Because the brain is doing what it always does – creating the most coherent story it can from the traces it finds?”

“Even when those traces weren’t created by any actual sequence of events.”

“There’s something remarkable about how these dream narratives come together,” Haplous said.

“How do you mean?”

“Think about what the brain faces upon waking. It has traces from maintenance processes, decayed impressions from yesterday, sensations from the present moment...”

“All completely disconnected from each other! Yet somehow it weaves them into a story?”

“Yes. And not just any story...”

“One that seems to make perfect sense while we’re recalling it! Even though later, when we’re fully awake, we might realize it was completely impossible?”

“Rather like a clever author who can make you believe the most fantastic tale while you’re reading it?”

“Yes! But in this case, the brain isn’t trying to be creative – it’s just doing what it always does, isn’t it? Trying to make sense of whatever traces it finds?”

“And remember what we said about accepting constructions without question...”

“The brain doesn’t stop and say ‘this story makes no sense,’” Synergos said. “It simply presents the most coherent narrative it can construct from the available traces!”

“Even if that means your childhood home can appear in the kitchen garden...”

“Or Brother James can transform into my father mid-conversation!” Synergos laughed. “It all seems perfectly natural in the moment.”

“I’ve noticed something about waking up,” Synergos said, watching sunlight fill the courtyard.

“Yes?”

“When we’re awakened suddenly – like by a loud noise – we’re often confused for a moment. It takes time to get our bearings, to remember where we are...”

“And yet when we wake naturally?”

“We usually know exactly where we are!” Synergos paused. “Does that mean the brain must ‘gear up’ for the world before we actually wake?”

“Think about everything the brain needs to establish. Your location, the time of day, your current situation...”

“That’s quite a lot to do at the exact moment of waking, isn’t it? So during natural sleep, the brain must prepare itself beforehand?”

“Yes! And consider what this means for dream construction...”

“Ah! When we look back, we’re not just constructing from maintenance traces and old memories... We’re also finding traces from this ‘gearing up’ process!”

“Which might explain...”

“Why dreams often involve questions of identity and location! And why they frequently end with us becoming aware of our real situation! The very process of the brain preparing itself for consciousness becomes part of what it tries to make sense of!”

“Rather like trying to remember the preparations for a journey as part of the journey itself?”

“Yes! No wonder dreams can seem so strange – they’re partly built from the brain’s own process of getting ready to wake up!”

“Sometimes when we’re waking up naturally, we can find ourselves in the wrong world entirely,” Haplous said.

“What do you mean?”

“I recently had an interesting experience. I was waking up in my room here at the monastery, but before opening my eyes, I found myself completely present in the Buddhist monastery where I spent those years in Japan.”

“You mean you were remembering it?”

“No, I was there.” Haplous touched his wooden cross. “I could feel the tatami mats, sense the mountain air, hear the temple bells... it was utterly real.”

“But how is that possible?”

“Think about what we just discussed – how the brain gears up for the world before waking...”

“Ah! Sometimes it might construct the wrong world?”

“Yes! And notice something fascinating about these moments...”

“They feel absolutely real while they’re happening! Because the brain has actually built that complete world model?”

“Even though it’s the wrong one for our current situation.” Haplous smiled. “Rather like an actor who’s prepared for the wrong scene...”

“And then has to quickly switch when they realize their mistake!” Synergos laughed. “Is that why dreams sometimes seem to take place in impossible combinations of places?”

“Because the brain might be working with multiple world models as it prepares for waking?”

“Yes! Like when I dream the monastery chapel is somehow also my childhood home... We’re seeing traces of different possible worlds the brain considered?”

“Have you noticed how dreams often shift from one setting to another?”

“Yes! One moment you’re in one place, then suddenly you’re somewhere else entirely – yet it feels perfectly natural while it’s happening.”

“And given what we understand now about construction...”

“The brain must be encountering different traces as it constructs? Finding evidence of different world models it was preparing?”

“Yes, but notice something interesting about these transitions...”

“They often make perfect sense in the dream narrative! Like when I dreamed I was in the chapel, then walked through a door and found myself in my mother’s kitchen – at the time, it seemed completely logical.”

“Because the brain isn’t just finding these different world models...”

“It’s weaving them into a coherent story! Just as it does with all the other traces it finds?”

“Rather like a playwright who can make the most improbable scene changes seem natural through clever transitions?”

“Yes! But the brain isn’t trying to be clever – it’s just doing what it always does, creating the most coherent construction it can from whatever traces it finds. Even when those traces come from completely different world models it was preparing!”

“Consider a lion hunting on the savannah,” Haplous said.

“What about it?”

“Out of all the sensory information available – grass moving, birds flying, clouds shifting – what does it notice first?”

“Anything that might be prey?”

“Yes! Its brain has templates, patterns it’s always looking for. Like a gazelle’s shape or movement...” Haplous smiled. “And our brains work the same way.”

“You mean we have templates too?”

“Of course. Think of a young person in love. Out of all the faces they might see in a crowd...”

“They immediately notice anyone who resembles their beloved! And in dreams...”

“Yes?”

“When the brain looks back over its state upon waking, finding all these disconnected traces... If there’s someone very important in their life, their brain would naturally try to find that pattern?”

“Just as the lion sees prey shapes in the moving grass...”

“A lonely heart might see their beloved in the traces left by sleep! Even if those traces had nothing to do with that person originally?”

“And these templates aren’t just about people we love...”

“No – they could be about anything that deeply concerns us. Our fears, our hopes...” Synergos paused. “The brain is always looking for these significant patterns, isn’t it? Whether in the world or in its own traces?”

“Rather like how a key seeks its lock...”

“The brain seeks what matters most to us, even in the chaos of sleep’s aftermath!”

“Let’s think about emotions in dreams,” Haplous said. “But perhaps not in the way most people do.”

“How do you mean?”

“When people wake from a frightening dream, they usually assume they had a nightmare which made them afraid...”

“But given our framework...” Synergos said. “Are you suggesting it might be the other way around?”

“Think about our archaeologist. When they find evidence of a violent event...”

“They construct a story to explain that evidence! So when our brain looks back and finds traces as are normally associated with a state of anxiety...”

“Yes?”

“It must construct a narrative that explains that anxiety! Even if the anxiety wasn’t caused by any actual experience during sleep?”

“And notice something interesting about deep sleep...”

“The brain is doing maintenance, completely reorganizing itself... Those states might look nothing like normal emotional states?”

“Yet when our archaeologist examines them upon waking...”

“It has to interpret them in terms that it can understand! So if it finds traces that resemble anxiety or peace...”

“Even though they might have arisen from maintenance processes...”

“The brain constructs a story to match the emotional tone that seems to hold in the brain at that time! Maybe that why people often report more nightmares when waking from deep sleep – perhaps it finds those radically different states, or the transition out of them, disconcerting or even frightening!”

“And what might this tell us about the meaning of dream emotions?”

“They’re still meaningful – they show how our brain interprets different states. But the emotions aren’t caused by the dream story. The story is created to match the emotional state the brain finds!”

“But what about recurring dreams?” Synergos asked. “Could it be that similar states upon waking get interpreted through similar templates? Or perhaps certain maintenance processes leave characteristic traces...”

“Ah,” Haplous said, his hand going to his wooden cross. “There is in fact an important phenomenon to consider, which is recurrent nightmares suffered by people who have experienced trauma. And there is also a closely related phenomenon, where they dwell on recurrent obsessive thoughts about the traumatic event or related to it.”

“Yes, this is important,” Synergos said, watching the monastery cat investigate a patch of newly turned earth. “My neighbor suffers from post-traumatic stress syndrome, and has told me about this. Do you know why that happens?”

“Think carefully about what we’ve established. When the brain looks back upon waking, acting as our naïve archaeologist...”

“It constructs a dream narrative from whatever traces it finds.” Synergos nodded. “But with recurring nightmares, it keeps constructing the same narrative, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. And notice something fascinating about this pattern...”

“The brain at large is choosing to construct this particular narrative again and again? Even though it could presumably construct something else from those traces?”

“Rather like how Brother James might play the same piece of music repeatedly, though his fingers could play many other things?”

“Yes! So these aren’t just passive experiences happening to us...”

“They’re active constructions the brain at large is making,” Haplous said. “Though notice something interesting about how people typically view them...”

“They feel helpless. Like they have no control over these terrible dreams that keep haunting them?”

“Yet given what we understand about the brain at large...”

“There can’t be some separate entity forcing these constructions! The brain at large itself must be choosing to construct them this way, even if we don’t understand why?”

“Rather profound implication, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” Synergos said. “Though I suppose the next question would be...”

“Why would the brain at large choose to keep constructing such distressing experiences?”

“Exactly, it seems paradoxical. If a person actually is their brain at large, and looping is just a tool they choose to use, and they’re constructing these distressing experiences...”

“Yes?”

“Why would they keep doing it when they desperately want to stop? It’s like they’re working against themselves.”

“Consider something interesting about young children. When they get hurt, what do they naturally do?”

“They run to tell their mother about it,” Synergos said, “or their father, or their teacher, or to anyone, seeking comfort by expressing their pain?”

“That is a totally natural instinct, we see children do it automatically, without so much deciding to do it, and in adults the instinct is still there, of course. But that is just one possibility. Think about what else the brain at large might be attempting...”

“When something disturbing happens, we naturally try to make sense of it, don’t we? To understand it somehow?”

“Yes. And remember what we discovered about negative reinforcement...”

“The brain learns not to loop about extremely painful content! So it might keep trying to understand, but can never quite examine everything because some aspects are too distressing?”

“Rather like trying to solve a puzzle with some pieces always hidden?”

“Yes! And because it can’t reach complete understanding... it keeps trying again and again?”

“Though notice something interesting about this process. The brain at large isn’t just one simple system with a single purpose...”

“It might be pursuing multiple goals simultaneously? Part wanting to express, part trying to understand, part protecting itself from pain...”

“Like how Brother Michael sometimes struggles with a new piece of music. Part of him wanting to master it, part afraid of failing, part seeking approval...”

“And all these different purposes create this complex pattern, where the brain at large seems to be working at cross-purposes with itself?”

“Though perhaps most remarkable of all...”

“What’s that?”

“Once we understand these mechanics, we can start to recognize these different purposes at work?”

The monastery cat appeared silently between the lavender stalks, its quiet, focused presence a reminder of how nature often resolves conflicts through direct understanding rather than endless examination.

“Something else occurs to me,” Synergos said after a moment, watching the monastery cat track a leaf spiraling down from the ancient oak. “About these effects of trauma...”

“Yes?”

“We’ve talked about recurring dreams where someone keeps constructing the same specific narrative.” Synergos straightened his papers. “But there’s something else that happens too, isn’t there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like Brother James after that terrible storm damaged the bell tower. For months afterward, every time the wind rose...”

“He would become extremely alert to any signs of structural weakness,” Haplous finished. “Though notice something interesting about these two different patterns...”

“In one case, the brain at large keeps reconstructing a specific experience. Like trying to express it or understand it. But in the other...”

“Yes?”

“It’s more like the brain has developed new templates. Making it much more likely to construct threat-related experiences in general?”

“Rather like how that storm changed Brother James’s whole way of seeing the monastery buildings?”

“Yes! And this affects both dreams and waking life. Not reconstructing the specific storm, but seeing potential danger everywhere?”

“And notice something fascinating about these templates...”

“They’re not exactly wrong, are they? Brother James’s heightened attention to structural issues has actually helped prevent several problems...”

“Though perhaps at some cost?”

“Yes – the constant vigilance, the tendency to construct threat even in relatively safe situations... Like how he barely slept during that week of spring rains?”

“And think about what this tells us about trauma’s effects...”

“It’s not just about specific memories that need expressing or understanding. It can fundamentally change how the brain constructs experience itself?”

The monastery cat appeared silently between them, its natural wisdom a perfect balance of awareness and peaceful presence.

“Yes. Though notice something else quite remarkable...”

“What’s that?”

“Once we understand these mechanics, we can start to recognize when our templates might be oversensitive?”

“Like yesterday, when James actually stopped himself and said, ‘Perhaps I’m seeing problems that aren’t really there...’”

“Rather significant moment, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes! Understanding that they are the brain at large, that there isn’t some separate force making them reconstruct these experiences...”

“Though notice something interesting about this recognition...”

“It’s not about simply deciding to stop. The brain at large might have important reasons for these patterns...”

“Like trying to express something meaningful?”

“Or understand something with missing pieces,” Synergos said. “Or maintain vigilance against genuine threats. But once we understand the mechanics...”

“Yes?”

“We can work with these patterns more consciously. Like how James now examines buildings thoroughly but doesn’t let every shadow become a crisis?”

“And think about what this understanding enables...”

“The brain at large can find new ways to express what needs expressing. New ways to work with partial understanding, new ways to maintain appropriate vigilance...”

“Rather like learning to use any tool more skillfully?”

“So, you’re saying, the understanding doesn’t invalidate the original trauma or deny real dangers. It just helps people work more skillfully with how their brain processes experience?”

“Also, there are cognitive tools that therapists can use to help people overcome these habits.” Haplous said. “But a first step is to understand what’s happening, put yourself in the driver seat of the car. You are the brain at large, you control what’s happening. Sometimes you don’t like what’s happening, but it’s still you, and it’s good to understand the mechanisms, why it is happening, because once you understand why the ‘car’ is doing that, you can begin to guide it in another direction.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Though perhaps most remarkable of all, is how this understanding affects people’s relationship with their own experience. Not seeing themselves as helpless victims of recurring thoughts or overwhelming vigilance...”

“But as active participants in how they construct meaning? Like that ancient wisdom recorded by Karma Lingpa about becoming free when we recognize our experience as a construction?”

“But remember how we began talking about these nightmares and recurrent thoughts caused by trauma.” Haplous leaned forward. “What matters is understanding this fundamental principle – that dreams are constructions upon waking, not experiences during sleep. The implications of this go far beyond any particular dream’s content.”

“Yes, of course,” Synergos agreed. “It changes our whole understanding of consciousness and experience, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly. Now that’s something worth exploring further...”

“Something puzzles me,” Synergos said. “If dreams are just constructions upon waking, why do they seem to follow patterns that psychologists have studied? Why do they appear meaningful?”

“Ah,” Haplous smiled. “Consider our archaeologist again. When they construct events from evidence...”

“They use their knowledge of human behavior and culture to interpret what they find?”

“Yes! And when our brain constructs from its current state...”

“It uses everything it knows about ourselves and our lives! Our fears, hopes, relationships...”

“And remember what we said about templates...”

“The brain naturally looks for significant patterns! So even though it’s constructing from maintenance traces...” Synergos said. “It interprets them through our deepest concerns and understandings?”

“Rather like how different archaeologists might find similar patterns in ruins...”

“Because they’re using shared cultural knowledge to interpret the evidence! Just as our brains use our personal and cultural understanding to interpret these traces!”

“So the patterns psychologists find...”

“They’re real patterns – not of what happened during sleep, but of how our brains make sense of these states! The meaning comes from how we interpret, not from what we’re interpreting?”

“And isn’t that rather significant?”

“Yes! It tells us something about how meaning works in general, doesn’t it?”

“Maury’s dream was what first opened my eyes to this understanding of dreams,” Haplous said thoughtfully. “The evidence seemed irrefutable – dreams had to be constructions. But...”

“Yes?”

“It was extraordinarily difficult to accept at first. The subjective impression that we experience dreams during sleep is so powerful...” Haplous paused. “And now I wonder...”

“What is it?”

“If we could be so fundamentally mistaken about when dreams occur, what else might we have backward?” Haplous’s eyes held a distant look. “Perhaps this process of looping, this way our brain creates meaning through construction... it might affect far more than just dreams.”

“You mean our understanding of consciousness itself?”

“Yes. We think we directly experience the world, our thoughts, our memories...” Haplous smiled. “But what if, like dreams, many of these experiences are constructions whose timing and nature we fundamentally misunderstand?”

“Rather unsettling, isn’t it?”

“On the contrary – I find it thrilling!” Haplous’s eyes brightened. “We might be at the beginning of understanding something profound about how our minds actually work.”

“There are other phenomena that might support this understanding,” he said then, rising from the stone bench.

“What do you mean?”

“Consider patients with split brains, where the connection between hemispheres has been severed. Or people with blindsight, who can respond to visual information they claim not to see...”

“How do these relate to what we’ve learned about dreams?”

“Perhaps we could discuss it tomorrow?” Haplous suggested. “I think you’ll find that dreams are just the beginning of understanding how our brains construct experience.”

“The beginning? You mean there’s more evidence for this framework?”

“Oh yes.” Haplous touched his wooden cross. “Much more. Dreams just happen to make it especially clear because of the temporal impossibilities they reveal. But once you understand the principle...”

“You start to see it everywhere?”

“Exactly. Shall we meet here tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Synergos replied, already pondering what other mysteries this new understanding might unlock.

— End of Dialog 3 —