One of the most adventurous things left us is to go to bed. For

“One of the most adventurous things left us is to go to bed. For no one can lay a hand on our dreams.” — Thus wrote E. V. Lucas, that quiet philosopher of the everyday, whose words hide deep wonder beneath gentle humor. In this simple reflection lies a truth both mystical and defiant: that even in the humblest act of rest, there remains the last untouched kingdom — the realm of dreams. For while the waking world binds us with duty, fear, and circumstance, the world of sleep releases us, granting freedom absolute and divine.

The ancients would have understood this well. They revered the dream not as illusion but as journey — a voyage of the soul beyond the chains of the flesh. To sleep was to embark upon an inward odyssey, guided not by maps but by mystery. Lucas, writing in an age when modern man had conquered the seas, the skies, and even the poles, looked around and saw that the outer frontiers were fading. Yet within each heart, a vast and secret world still awaited exploration — the inner empire of imagination. Thus he called sleep an adventure, for in it, one travels where no other may follow.

To dream is to reclaim the sacred power of freedom. In the waking world, others may rule our bodies, our labor, even our time. But “no one can lay a hand on our dreams.” There, in that boundless country, we are sovereign. We may rise above the clouds, speak with the dead, rewrite our past, or glimpse the shape of things to come. In dreams, the soul stretches its wings — wings too often folded beneath the weight of waking life.

Consider the tale of Harriet Tubman, the great liberator of her people. Though born into slavery, she dreamed of freedom so vividly that it became her destiny. She was said to have visions — divine dreams that guided her path through darkness and danger. Whether born of faith or of the mysterious mind, those dreams could not be shackled or silenced. And through them, she found the strength to awaken not only herself but countless others. Her story reveals that dreams are not idle phantoms, but living forces that shape the waking world.

Even those who seem powerless in life may rule in dream. The beggar may dine with kings; the prisoner may walk unbound beneath the stars. Such is the mercy of sleep — it restores the grandeur that reality denies. The adventure of dreaming is not escape, but renewal. In that secret land, the weary spirit remembers its own infinity. It touches the divine spark from which all creation flows, and when it wakes, it carries back a fragment of eternity.

Yet there is also wisdom in the dream’s silence. In dreams, truth often speaks in symbols — the language of the soul. The ancients would rise at dawn and ponder their visions, for they believed that within them lay guidance and prophecy. We, too, must learn to listen. Our dreams may reveal the fears we ignore, the desires we suppress, the callings we refuse to hear. Thus the adventure of sleep is not only wondrous but instructive: it teaches us who we are when no one watches.

The lesson, then, is this: treasure the night as you do the day. Do not rush into sleep as into oblivion, but enter it as a sacred voyage. Prepare your mind for the journey — set down the burdens of worry, close the gates of noise, and let your spirit drift toward the infinite. Record your dreams upon waking; ponder their meaning. For the dream is both messenger and map — a whisper from the unseen realms of your own being.

And remember always, child of the waking world: there remains one realm where tyranny cannot reach, where no hand may command, no fear may rule — the realm of dreams. Cherish it, protect it, and let it remind you that freedom begins not in the world, but in the mind that dares to wander. For as E. V. Lucas taught, the greatest adventure left to us is not found upon the earth, but within the quiet, star-lit sea of sleep, where we sail each night, fearless and alone, to the farthest shores of the soul.