Hypnogagia

Neuroscientists believe that our brains and our minds are separate. The brain is an organ, about three-or-so pounds of soft gray tissue. The mind, on the other hand, is less easily defined and resides somehow in the brain without actually having an identifiable location. Almost like a ghost haunting a house, the mind dwells in the brain.

But the mind isn’t a totally untethered spirit – how the brain works affects our minds. Certain brain conditions even can affect how we perceive reality. For instance, as we fall asleep – in the first few moments while we slip out of consciousness – a phenomenon named hypnagogia can create all sorts of wild distorted visions in our minds. Giant fish the size of trucks with wheels driven by your mom down a street lined with rhythmically dancing palm trees might be the sort of imagery you see during a hypnagogic episode.

My friend Alan once became very interested in paintings by Salvador Dali – the artist who painted pictures such as clocks bending on bare trees in desolate landscapes. Even though Alan wasn’t generally interested in art, Dali’s work appealed to him for some reason and he filled his apartment with Dali paintings. After reading Dali’s autobiography Alan even began behaving like Dali, growing a mustache and twisting the waxed ends upward, carrying a cane and proudly breaking wind at parties.

During one party in his apartment Alan met a guy who was an art authority. Alan was anxious to discuss Dali with this guy and they chatted at length until the discussion ended abruptly with Alan walking out of his own party. After looking around with uncertainty, eventually guests one-by-one and in couples left Alan’s apartment and I cleaned up and turned out the lights.

The next day I went to his place and Alan was there. I walked in and immediately noticed that his mustache was gone -- he had shaved his beloved Dali mustache. As I stood in the living room, I noticed also that across all of his Dali prints Alan had scrawled “Rip off!” and “Fake”. I said, “Alan, you knew these were only prints, right? You didn’t ask that art guy last night if these were worth anything, did you?” Dismissively Alan waved his hand and said, “Of course I knew they were prints.” But then he told me that the art guy told him a story about Dali.

Apparently, to find inspiration for his strange paintings Dali would purposefully drift off to sleep after big meals sitting upright in a chair holding a key between his thumb and index finger. As he fell asleep, the key would slip from his hand, land on tile floor with a clatter and wake Dali so that immediately he could paint the fantastic images he saw in his hypnagogic states.

“What a total rip-off,” Alan said, looking at the floor. “It’s just like all those baseball players using steroids to hit homers. Those aren’t real homers. And those pictures aren’t Dali’s ideas. They’re just tricks.”

I looked at the prints on Alan’s wall and tried to imagine seeing the images Dali did as he fell asleep. I could hear traffic passing on the street below. “Alan,” I asked quietly, “Do you ever see these kinds of images as you fall asleep?” He looked up at me with moistened eyes and nodded yes. “Is that why you think Dali is no longer special? Because you see these images, too?” Alan nodded again and said vaguely, “Uh-huh.” I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Well Alan, I think you’re special.” “You do?” he asked. “No, not really,” I said.