|The Dream of Prisoners by Moritz von Schwind|
(appears in Freud's 1920 publication)
See my earlier post, The Dark Ages Revivified by the Colour of Welsh Dream-Lore for an intuitive lead into this analytical reasoning on the act of interpretation, as confirmed by Freud.
Highway travails, backseat blues, the wrested grapple on leathered frowns presses my skull to the glass with thinly worn agreement with current circumstance, transitory. I pipe up, “Now! I need a bath!” The car halts at a gated stopover, wherein curious attendees ask for a fee. The lockjaw tension spills out into an arts fiesta of European nostalgia.
|The Rose, or the Artist's Journey by Moritz von Schwind|
I call out to the crowd, “Now! I have a poem!” I begin muttering, unconfident to truly belt out the words, poorly edited and written with fine ink on a magazine page. The people in the room simply continue on, unalloyed with the anti-climactic triumph of my ever- softening voice. As I saunter outside, away from the dizzying crowd, drunk on their high horse of serendipitous camaraderie, I wade in hollow memory.
|Apparition in the Woods by Moritz von Schwind|
Repeating two names, Rem and Rom, as nicknames to the famed feral twins of classical Roman fate. Unnerved by the mysterious blank, open backdrop of mental awareness rusting and pasted over with tasteless eyes, I reason and devise a new way. Alone, into the darkest, thickest patch of forest, I tread the unknowable, pathless, fearless and out of mind, out of time.
________Following the wave’s break
Chilling the surf in its open, living mind
Upside into the sky’s unbroken cavity
When fish jump
And break surface of mental clarity with life’s untamed spontaneity,
When life emerges
And takes of its observant few what prophecies are foretold by nature
...To die the impatient death of youth
And brush past the envisioned self
Struggling to go together with soul
To the summit of human glory
- excerpt from "Borrowed from the Ancients"