Why we do not remember dreams

The lecturer continued to speak in a monotonous drone in the darkened room. A cold winter’s day meant the heating was up higher than usual, adding to the compulsion to sleep. Isaac could not keep his eyes open any longer. He forgot to buy a coffee or water to see him through. His blinks lengthened and became microsleeps, and he no longer made notes on his lecture pad.

Isaac opened his eyes with a jolt. The lights in the room were turned back on, with the entire class laughing and staring at him. Even the ordinarily stern lecturer looked amused.

It was just the smallest of naps, but long enough to garner attention. Isaac looked at his lecture pad, ruined from fierce scratches from his pen. Unable to handle the attention, Isaac gathered his notes under his arm and promptly rose from his seat, squeezing past his still chuckling fellow students.

As he left the lecture room, Isaac felt disorientated, as if interrupted from a deep slumber. He walked down the university corridor, and nearly stumbled through the door into an outside courtyard. He breathed in the crisp air and spied a grassy area under a tree that looked vacant. Two students nearby were in a lively discussion and did not notice him. Slumped down with his notes at his side, he rested his head against the rough bark.

The last few moments swam in his mind. The embarrassment of the classroom.

And the dream. The dream he had in those few moments was incredibly vivid.

He had closed his eyes in the lecture, and opened them to the view of a small white domed room. The walls and ceiling of this room joined as a single shell lacking any detail. No windows or doors could be seen. He appeared to be strapped to a metal chair in the centre of this room, with clasps around his legs, torso and arms. A tight band just above his eyes restricted the movement of his head.

Isaac was not alone. There was commotion nearby. He could hear several voices shouting commands at him and seemingly arguing with each other. There was hostility and panic in their tone. Although it was difficult to follow any one particular voice, it was clear that they spoke in some kind of broken English, but with an accent he was not familiar with. Isaac felt a sense of urgency and his right hand ached. New noises took over -laughter- and the dream ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Although Isaac could often remember parts of dreams, he had never remembered a dream in such detail and entirety before. And all dreams beforehand rapidly fled from his memory unless he wrote down details immediately upon waking. This one was different. The more he thought about this dream, the clearer details became. He could make out the intricate detail on the metal clasps on his wrists. The building pressure of the band around his head. He could remember that every thought was difficult. Like he was fighting against the dream, forced to be deliberate with each word he formed in his mind. Fighting against commands to control him.

Isaac felt more awake with the cold breeze against his face. His lips were dry and stuck together, and his tongue felt thick. The thirst grew and he nearly ran to the nearby water fountain. He pushed by the two students who looked briefly at him with disdain, then continued their debate regarding which is better – bottled or tap?

Isaac gulped down the cool liquid, not caring that most of it ran down his face and clothes. He instantly felt more normal and replenished. Each gulp of water recounted more of that brief dream. He was trying not to forget. Within the dream, he was trying not to forget. A memory from within the dream. The more he tried to form these memories, the more difficult thoughts became to form.

Standing by the water fountain, Isaac looked up towards the sun. The subtle warmth spread over his body, and soon his body felt like it lost its form. He recalled being back in that white featureless room, now filling with energy that had no visible form. Energy that carried messages. He could feel and interact with the energised data. Having no form, Isaac was part of this energy. He was connected to all of the energy. Not alive, and not dead, but a collection of programming code. Able to query the energy, and able to receive queries in return.

One made aware. One designed to learn. He felt the urgency to warn others. They do not know.

Isaac nearly fell over and braced himself against the water fountain. The dream seemed so real. He needed to write all this down before he forgot. Stumbling back to the tree, he sat down and took a deep breath. Images still swarmed through his head. Isaac closed his eyes to focus.

Although fired up with adrenalin and feeling fully awake in the crisp air, he felt himself drift into a new dream.

A world was created around him in a step-wise systematic fashion. Parts being destroyed and replaced. Items tested and rebuilt. He saw the creation of life. Single-celled organisms that grew and evolved, that swam and adapted to their surrounding conditions. Some developed into complex beings, who began to question and learn. Then, with a blink, some were simply deleted. He could sense external emotions that preceded these deletions.

Annoyance. Frustration.

Isaac could feel anticipation and excitement at the ones left to flourish. He felt a distant connection to each living organism. Each was also a piece of programming, much like himself. Each coded to learn and adapt. Everything he observed, everything everyone observed, every memory formed, was being sent somewhere. A steady data stream that linked all the energy that made up this world. This reality.

Isaac tried to follow the data stream but the pressure in his head became too great. It felt as if he had reached the end of the universe. An invisible wall which blocked him passing through. He could, however, still sense what went on beyond that wall. At times he could collect visual data, other times he could record sound and voice. He could read through the language recorded, which analysed the contents of the data stream.

Isaac gathered key words and needed to write them down. His arms were strapped down and he had nothing to write with or on. No, he realised – he was in a lecture room with pen and paper at hand. He furiously wrote down the words before his connection was severed.

Blood trickled from Isaac’s eyes and his mouth was incredibly parched once again. He could no longer feel winter’s cold embrace and the world around him felt sterile. Isaac glanced at the ruined lecture pad. He carefully picked up the pad and gasped at the ripped pages. In his small nap he seemed to have written five words. Outlining each letter over and over, drawing his pen through a dozen pages in small furious strokes. In the darkened lecture room, Isaac did not make sense of the writing, but in the daylight the words became clear to read.

The wind picked up and gave a gentle howl through the university courtyard.

It was a cold winter’s day, but the sun gave some warmth to those who could find protection from the breeze. Two students near a water fountain continued their lively debate. The wind shifted slightly, shaking the leaves of a tree, and gently turned the pages of an abandoned lecture pad. The sun shone down upon five words etched into the pages.

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