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 compass, 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 "færie 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-combine 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 was a smooth, exquisitely moulded 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 commonplace. 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 become 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 comprehensiveness 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[205] 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.
