Life is like a dream not because it is inconsistent and full of paradoxes, but simply because it is experience, from beginning to end, without a seam and cannot be anything else. The experience is filled with inexorable fatalities, with solid matters ready to crush you, devour you, with realities that must be tested and tested again, but only in the experience, not as the experience. As experience it is of the same weightless non-substance, uniform throughout, profoundly not-real and untestable.