This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real.
Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.
But there's a difference with this dream. Everything cruel and unconscious done in the illusion of the present world, all that does not fade away at the death-waking.
It stays, and it must be interpreted.
All the mean laughing, all the quick, sexual wanting, those torn coats of Joseph, they change into powerful wolves that you must face.
The retaliation that sometimes comes now, the swift, payback hit, is just a boy's game to what the other will be.
You know about circumcision here. It's full castration there!
And this groggy time we live, this is what it's like:
A man goes to sleep in the town where he has always lived, and he dreams he's living in another town.
In the dream, he doesn't remember the town he's sleeping in his bed in. He believes the reality of the dream town.
The world is that kind of sleep.
The dust of many crumbled cities settles over us like a forgetful doze, but we are older than those cities.
We began as a mineral. We emerged into plant life and into the animal state, and then into being human, and always we have forgotten our former states, except in early spring when we slightly recall being green again.
That's how a young person turns toward a teacher. That's how a baby leans toward the breast, without knowing the secret of its desire, yet turning instinctively.
Humankind is being led along an evolving course, through this migration of intelligences, and though we seem to be sleeping,
there is an inner wakefulness that directs the dream, and that will eventually startle us back