Primarily a writing exercise, this dream journal-inspired blog is a quiet introspective sojourn into the process that we traverse in going from private dream to public art. I see our dreaming as an internalized mythmaking. As I philosophize and expressively exhibit dreams, both private and public, I encourage and delight in creative language as a way to practice experiential metaphors through a “public dreaming." Writing Theory: Creative Dream Fiction

Thursday, 27 October 2011

Dream of Gerontius

Selections from "The Dream of Gerontius" by Cardinal John Henry Newman

"Gerontius -

And drop from out the universal frame
Into that shapeless, scopeless, blank abyss,
That utter nothingness, of which I came:
           This is it that has come to pass in me;

And while the storm of that bewilderment Is for a season spent,
           And, ere afresh the ruin on thee fall, Use well the interval.

Down, down for ever I was falling through
The solid framework of created things,
And needs must sink and sink
           Into the vast abyss.
           Soul of Gerontius
I  WENT to sleep; and now  I am refreshed.
A strange refreshment: for I feel in me
An inexpressive lightness, and a sense
Of freedom, as I were at length myself
And ne’er had been before. How still it is!
I hear no more the busy beat of time,
No, nor my fluttering breath, nor struggling pulse;
           Nor does one moment differ from the next. I had a dream; yes: — someone softly said 
           “He’s gone;” and then a sigh went round the room.

            Am I alive or dead? I am not dead,
            But in the body still; for I possess
            A sort of confidence which clings to me,
            That each particular organ holds its place
            As heretofore, combining with the rest
            Into one symmetry that wraps me round,
            And makes me man; and surely I could move,
            Did I but will it, every part of me.

           Assure myself I have a body still.
           Nor do I know my very attitude,
           Nor if I stand, or lie, or sit, or kneel.
So much I know, not knowing how I know,
That the vast universe, where I have dwelt,
Is quitting me, or I am quitting it.

Or am I traversing infinity
By endless subdivision, hurrying back
From finite towards infinitesimal,
          Thus dying out of the expansed world?

Another marvel; someone has me fast
Within his ample palm; ‘tis not a grasp
Such as they use on earth, but all around
          Over the surface of my subtle being,

And gentle pressure tells me I am not
          Self-moving, but borne forward on my way.


Divide a moment, as men measure time,
Into its million-million-millionth part,
Yet even less than that the interval
           Since thou didst leave the body;

And thou art wrapped and swathed around in dreams,
           Dreams that are true, yet enigmatical;

Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow;
Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here,
           And I will come and wake thee on the morrow."

[these are the ending lines]

*the entire poem can be found here

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