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The very landscape and scenery in a dream seem not to fit us, but like a coat or cloak of some other person to overlap and encumber the wearer; so is the ground, the road, the house, in dreams, too long or too short, and if it served no other purpose would show us how accurately nature fits man awake.There is one memory of waking and another of sleep.
A prophetic character in all ages has haunted them.
They are the maturation often of opinions not consciously carried out to statements, but whereof we already possessed the elements.
He shall be startled two or three times in his life by the justice as well as the significance of this phantasmagoria.
Once or twice the conscious fetters shall seem to be unlocked, and a freer utterance attained.
There is a strange wilfulness in the speed with which it disperses and baffles our grasp.
A dislocation seems to be the foremost trait of dreams. The fairest forms, the most noble and excellent persons, are deformed by some pitiful and insane circumstance.They have a double consciousness, at once sub- and objective.We call the phantoms that rise, the creation of our fancy, but they act like mutineers, and fire on their commander; showing that every act, every thought, every cause, is bipolar, and in the act is contained the counteraction.In a mixed assembly we have chanced to see not only a glance of Abdiel, so grand and keen, but also in other faces the features of the mink, of the bull, of the rat, and the barn-door fowl.You think, could the man overlook his own condition, he could not be restrained from suicide. This limbo and dust-hole of thought is presided over by a certain reason, too.What but the wild fact to which they suggest some approximation of theory?Nor is the fact quite solitary, for in varieties of our own species where organization seems to predominate over the genius of man, in Kalmuck or Malay or Flathead Indian, we are sometimes pained by the same feeling; and sometimes too the sharp-witted prosperous white man awakens it.In a dream we have the instinctive obedience, the same torpidity of the highest power, the same unsurprised assent to the monstrous as these metamorphosed men exhibit. We fear lest the poor brute should gain one dreadful glimpse of his condition, should learn in some moment the tough limitations of this fettering organization.Our thoughts in a stable or in a menagerie, on the other hand, may well remind us of our dreams. You may catch the glance of a dog sometimes which lays a kind of claim to sympathy and brotherhood. It was in this glance that Ovid got the hint of his metamorphoses; Calidasa of his transmigration of souls. What keeps those wild tales in circulation for thousands of years?We are let by this experience into the high region of Cause, and acquainted with the identity of very unlike-seeming effects.We learn that actions whose turpitude is very differently reputed proceed from one and the same affection.