the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第12章

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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。　There　was　not　so　much　as　an　international　alliance
between　them。　Each　thought　behaved　like　a　newly　created　poet。

　　　　　　　　　　〃His　mouth　he　could　not　ope；
　　　　　　　　　　　But　there　flew　out　a　trope。〃

Magical　lyrics……oh；　if　I　only　had　written　them　down！　Pell…mell　they　came
doy　mind；　this　merry　throng。　With
bacchanal　song　and　shout　they　came；　and　eye　hath　not　since　beheld
confusion　worse　confounded。

Shut　your　eyes；　and　see　them　e……the　knights　and　ladies　of　my　revel。
Plumed　and　turbaned　they　e；　clad　in　mail　and　silken　broideries；
gentle　maids　in　Quaker　gray；　gay　princes　in　scarlet　cloaks；　coquettes
with　roses　in　their　hair；　monks　in　cowls　that　might　have　covered　the
tall　Minster　Tower；　demure　little　girls　hugging　paper　dolls；　and
rollicking　school…boys　with　ruddy　morning　faces；　an　absent…minded
professor　carrying　his　shoes　under　his　arms　and　looking　wise；　followed
by　cronies；　fairies；　goblins；　and　all　the　troops　just　loosed　from　Noah's
storm…tossed　ark。　They　walked；　they　strutted；　they　soared；　they　swam；
and　some　came　in　through　fire。　One　sprite　climbed　up　to　the　moon　on　a
ladder　made　of　leaves　and　frozen　dew…drops。　A　peacock　with　a　great
hooked　bill　flew　in　and　out　among　the　branches　of　a　pomegranate…tree
pecking　the　rosy　fruit。　He　screamed　so　loud　that　Apollo　turned　in　his
chariot　of　flame　and　from　his　burnished　bow　shot　golden　arrows　at　him。
This　did　not　disturb　the　peacock　in　the　least；　for　he　spread　his
gem…like　wings　and　flourished　his　wonderful；　fire…tipped　tail　in　the
very　face　of　the　sun…god！　Then　came　Venus……an　exact　copy　of　my　own
plaster　cast……serene；　calm…eyed；　dancing　〃high　and　disposedly〃　like
Queen　Elizabeth；　surrounded　by　a　troop　of　lovely　Cupids　mounted　on
rose…tinted　clouds；　blown　hither　and　thither　by　sweet　winds；　while　all
around　danced　flowers　and　streams　and　queer　little　Japanese　cherry…trees
in　pots！　They　were　followed　by　jovial　Pan　with　green　hair　and　jewelled
sandals；　and　by　his　side……I　could　scarcely　believe　my　eyes！……walked　a
modest　nun　counting　her　beads。　At　a　little　distance　were　seen　three
dancers　arm…in…arm；　a　lea