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seldom more than dim haunting recollections in the morning； and during
the day they are erased by the normal activities of the mind。 Sometimes
immediately on waking； I am so vexed at the memory of a dream…fracas； I
wish I may dream no more。 With this wish distinctly before me I drop off
again into a new turmoil of dreams。
Oh； dreams； what opprobrium I heap upon you……you； the most pointless
things imaginable； saucy apes； brewers of odious contrasts； haunting
birds of ill omen； mocking echoes； unseasonable reminders；
oft…returning vexations； skeletons in my morris…chair； jesters in the
tomb； death's…heads at the wedding feast； outlaws of the brain that
every night defy the mind's police service； thieves of my Hesperidean
apples； breakers of my domestic peace； murderers of sleep。 〃Oh； dreadful
dreams that do fright my spirit from her propriety！〃 No wonder that
Hamlet preferred the ills he knew rather than run the risk of one
dream…vision。
Yet remove the dream…world； and the loss is inconceivable。 The magic
spell which binds poetry together is broken。 The splendour of art and
the soaring might of imagination are lessened because no phantom of
fadeless sunsets and flowers urges onward to a goal。 Gone is the mute
permission or connivance which emboldens the soul to mock the limits of
time and space； forecast and gather in harvests of achievement for ages
yet unborn。 Blot out dreams； and the blind lose one of their chief
forts； for in the visions of sleep they behold their belief in the
seeing mind and their expectation of light beyond the blank； narrow
night justified。 Nay； our conception of immortality is shaken。 Faith；
the motive…power of human life； flickers out。 Before such vacancy and
bareness the shocks of wrecked worlds were indeed wele。 In truth；
dreams bring us the thought independently of us and in spite of us that
the soul
〃may right
Her nature； shoot large sail on lengthening cord；
And rush exultant on the Infinite。〃
DREAMS AND REALITY
XIV
DREAMS AND REALITY
IT is astonishing to think how our real wide…awake world revolves around
the shadowy unrealities of Dreamland。 Despite all that we say about the
inconsequence of dreams； we often reason by them。 We stake our greatest
hopes upon them。 Nay； we build upon them the fabric of an ideal world。 I
can recall few fine； thoughtful poems； few noble works of art or any
system of philosophy in which there is not evidence that dream…fantasies
symbolize truths concealed by phenomena。
The fact that in dreams confusion reigns； and illogical connections
occur gives plausibility to the theory which Sir Arthur Mitchell and
other scientific men hold； that our dream…thinking is uncontrolled and
undirected by the will。 The will……the inhibiting and guiding
power……finds rest and refreshment in sleep； while the mind； like a
barque without rudder or pass； drifts aimlessly upon an uncharted
sea。 But curiously enough； these fantasies and inter…twistings of
thought are to be found in great imaginative poems like Spenser's 〃Faerie
Queene。〃 Lamb was impressed by the analogy between our dream…thinking
and the work of the imagination。 Speaking of the episode in the cave of
Mammon； Lamb wrote：
〃It is not enough to say that the whole episode is a copy of the mind's
conceptions in sleep； it is……in some sort； but what a copy！ Let the most
romantic of us that has been entertained all night with the spectacle of
some wild and magnificent vision； re…bine it in the morning and try
it by his waking judgment。 That which appeared so shifting and yet so
coherent； when it came under cool examination； shall appear so
reasonless and so unlinked； that we are ashamed to have been so deluded；
and to have taken； though but in sleep； a monster for a god。 The
transitions in this episode are every whit as violent as in the most
extravagant dream； and yet the waking judgment ratifies them。〃
Perhaps I feel more than others the analogy between the world of our
waking life and the world of dreams because before I was taught； I lived
in a sort of perpetual dream。 The testimony of parents and friends who
watched me day after day is the only means that I have of knowing the
actuality of those early； obscure years of my childhood。 The physical
acts of going to bed and waking in the morning alone mark the transition
from reality to Dreamland。 As near as I can tell； asleep or awake I only
felt with my body。 I can recollect no process which I should now dignify
with the term of thought。 It is true that my bodily sensations were
extremely acute； but beyond a crude connection with physical wants they
are not associated or directed。 They had little relation to each other；
to me or the experience of others。 Idea……that which gives identity and
continuity to experience……came into my sleeping and waking existence at
the same moment with the awakening of self…consciousness。 Before that
moment my mind was in a state of anarchy in which meaningless sensations
rioted； and if thought existed； it was so vague and inconsequent； it
cannot be made a part of discourse。 Yet before my education began； I
dreamed。 I know that I must have dreamed because I recall no break in my
tactual experiences。 Things fell suddenly； heavily。 I felt my clothing
afire； or I fell into a tub of cold water。 Once I smelt bananas； and the
odour in my nostrils was so vivid that in the morning； before I was
dressed； I went to the sideboard to look for the bananas。 There were no
bananas； and no odour of bananas anywhere！ My life was in fact a dream
throughout。
The likeness between my waking state and the sleeping one is still
marked。 In both states I see； but not with my eyes。 I hear； but not with
my ears。 I speak； and am spoken to； without the sound of a voice。 I am
moved to pleasure by visions of ineffable beauty which I have never
beheld in the physical world。 Once in a dream I held in my hand a pearl。
The one I saw in my dreams must； therefore； have been a creation of my
imagination。 It oulded crystal。 As I gazed
into its shimmering deeps； my soul was flooded with an ecstasy of
tenderness； and I was filled with wonder as one who should for the
first time look into the cool； sweet heart of a rose。 My pearl was dew
and fire； the velvety green of moss； the soft whiteness of lilies； and
the distilled hues and sweetness of a thousand roses。 It seemed to me；
the soul of beauty was dissolved in its crystal bosom。 This beauteous
vision strengthens my conviction that the world which the mind builds up
out of countless subtle experiences and suggestions is fairer than the
world of the senses。 The splendour of the sunset my friends gaze at
across the purpling hills is wonderful。 But the sunset of the inner
vision brings purer delight because it is the worshipful blending of all
the beauty that we have known and desired。
I believe that I am more fortunate in my dreams than most people； for
as I think back over my dreams； the pleasant ones seem to predominate；
although we naturally recall most vividly and tell most eagerly the
grotesque and fantastic adventures in Slumberland。 I have friends；
however； whose dreams are always troubled and disturbed。 They wake
fatigued and bruised； and they tell me that they would give a kingdom
for one dreamless night。 There is one friend who declares that she has
never had a felicitous dream in her life。 The grind and worry of the day
invade the sweet domain of sleep and weary her with incessant；
profitless effort。 I feel very sorry for this friend； and perhaps it is
hardly fair to insist upon the pleasure of dreaming in the presence of
one whose dream…experience is so unhappy。 Still； it is true that my
dreams have uses as many and sweet as those of adversity。 All my
yearning for the strange； the weird； the ghostlike is gratified in
dreams。 They carry me out of the accustomed and monplace。 In a flash；
in the winking of an eye they snatch the burden from my shoulder； the
trivial task from my hand and the pain and disappointment from my heart；
and I behold the lovely face of my dream。 It dances round me with merry
measure and darts hither and thither in happy abandon。 Sudden； sweet
fancies spring forth from every nook and corner； and delightful
surprises meet me at every turn。 A happy dream is more precious than
gold and rubies。
I like to think that in dreams we catch glimpses of a life larger than
our own。 We see it as a little child； or as a savage who visits a
civilized nation。 Thoughts are imparted to us far above our ordinary
thinking。 Feelings nobler and wiser than any we have known thrill us
between heart…beats。 For one fleeting night a princelier nature captures
us； and we bee as great as our aspirations。 I daresay we return to
the little world of our daily activities with as distorted a half…memory
of what we have seen as that of the African who visited England； and
afterwards said he had been in a huge hill which carried him over great
waters。 The prehensiveness of our thought； whether we are asleep or
awake； no doubt depends largely upon our idiosyncrasies； constitution；
habits； and mental capacity。 But whatever may be the nature of our
dreams； the mental processes that characterize them are analogous to
those which go on when the mind is not held to attention by the will。
A WAKING DREAM
XV
A WAKING DREAM
I HAVE sat for hours in a sort of reverie； letting my mind have its way
without inhibition and direction； and idly noted down the incessant beat
of thought upon thought； image upon image。 I have observed that my
thoughts make all kinds of connections； wind in and out； trace
concentric circles； and break up in eddies of fantasy； just as in
dreams。 One day I had a literary frolic with a certain set of thoughts
which dropped in for an afternoon call。 I wrote for three or four hours
as they arrived； and the resulting record is much like a dream。 I found
that the most disconnected； dissimilar thoughts came in arm…in…arm……I
dreamed a wide…awake dream。 The difference is that in waking dreams I
can look back upon the endless succession of thoughts； while in the
dreams of sleep I can recall but few ideas and images。 I catch broken
threads from the warp and woof of a pattern I cannot see； or glowing
leaves which have floated on a slumber…wind from a tree that I cannot
identify。 In this reverie I held the key to the pany of ideas。 I give
my record of them to show what analogies exist between thoughts when
they are not directed and the behaviour of real dream…thinking。
I had an essay to write。 I wanted my mind fresh and obedient； and all
its handmaidens ready to hold up my hands in the task。 I intended to
discourse learnedly upon my educational experiences； and I was unusually
anxious to do my best。 I had a working plan in my head for the essay；
which was to be grave； wise； and abounding in ideas。 Moreover； it was to
have an academic flavour suggestive of sheepskin； and the reader was to
be duly impressed with the austere dignity of cap and gown。 I shut
myself up in the study； resolved to beat out on the keys of my
typewriter this immortal chapter of my life…history。 Alexander was no
more confident of conquering Asia with the splendid army which his
father Philip had disciplined than I was of finding my mental house in
order and my thoughts obedient。 My mind had had a long vacation； and I
was now ing back to it in an hour that it looked not for me。 My
situation was similar to that of the master who went into a far country
and expected on his home ing to find everything as he left it。 But
returning he found his servants giving a party。 Confusion was rampant。
There was fiddling and dancing and the babble of many tongues； so that
the voice of the master could not be heard。 Though he shouted and beat
upon the gate； it remained closed。
So it was with me。 I sounded the trumpet loud and long； but the vassals
of thought would not rally to my standard。 Each had his arm round the
waist of a fair partner； and I know not what wild tunes 〃put life and
mettle into their heels。〃 There was nothing to do。 I looked about
helplessly upon my great retinue； and realized that it is not the
possession of a thing but the ability to use it which is of value。 I
settled back in my chair to watch the pageant。 It was rather pleasant
sitting there； 〃idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean；〃 watching
my own thoughts at play。 It was like thinking fine things to say without
taking the trouble to write them。 I felt like Alice in Wonderland when
she ran at full speed with the red queen and never passed anything or
got anywhere。
The merry frolic went on madly。 The dancers were all manner of thoughts。
There were sad thoughts and happy thoughts； thoughts suited to every
clime and weather； thoughts bearing the mark of every age and nation；
silly thoughts and wise thoughts； thoughts of people； of things； and of
nothing； good thoughts； impish thoughts； and large； gracious thoughts。
There they went swinging hand…in…hand in corkscrew fashion。 An antic
jester in green and gold led the dance。 The guests followed no order or
precedent。 No two thoughts were related to each other even by the
fortieth cousinship