Art inspired micro fiction and mediocre ramblings enjoyed by a handful of people.
Perchance to Dream
October 26th, 2006
Vivid images, the product of my slumber. I seek you in the day as I try to piece together the moments of my dreams. Am I looking for truth? Signs? Meaning? Or is it simply that this misty memories are preferable to my mundane day?
It is in dreams that we see ourselves as we wish we could be: no longer limited by our circumstances. We are stronger, smarter, beautiful. Until, of course, the dream changes and I find myself repeating my senior year in high school yet again and I can not remember my locker combination. But all is not lost, because I possess (as all dreamers do) the supernatural ability to cause the lock to open at a mere snap of my fingers as fairies fly to whisk me to another portion of my dream. Suddenly I am in a new place and a new time trying to make sense of it all. I am Alice at the tea party, frightened because the Mad Hatter’s gibberish has begun to make sense to me. I begin to disappear, dissolving like the Cheshire cat into another part of my dream.
And so I find myself at the seaside, with the roar of the waves in my ear and mist bathing my face. The mist is strange and has a scratchy feel to it. I turn to avoid it. Opening my eyes I discover that this mist is in reality my cat. He’s decided it is time for me to awaken from my precious slumber. His food dish is empty, after all. What is more important than that?
Ah dream, I shall try to capture you again tonight.
“To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come”
—-Hamlet, William Shakespeare
This post features The Stuff that Dreams Are Made of (1858), painted by John Anster Fitzgerald.
You captured a dreamlike quality in your description. Something about the artwork seems modern, almost expressionistic – maybe the psychological aspect.
Hi Friends, I certainly enjoy visiting your site. The Victorian Era has always had a strong attraction and interest for me since childhood. It is as if I had been there and known the preraphaelites. Charles, the Liddells, Millias, and the the other visionaries who were messengers and prophets were from that unseen land where the skies were never seen by human eyes. By whatever means, I want these ghosts from the past to to be here now, in this, our time, where where we, who also exist as dreams in each others minds can become as one with them. Live on, immortal dreams, I love you all. Thanks for this site which returns our eternal friends to us.