Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Dreams in a Language Not My Own

On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur.
L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.

While my friend Nicole reads my first draft, I am writing short stories. Some real, most imagined, one a combination of the two. I find that of all my passions, and my regular readers know I have more than a few, writing makes me feel most fulfilled. Even when I reread the hours worth of words I've sacrificed sleep to create, only to delete them all, I am never disappointed in myself for having done so. Inspiration rarely alludes me, especially when crafting a short story. I tend to collect them in my mind and recall them later like half remembered conversations with old friends. I simply have to fill in the details.

Sometimes a story finds me, inadvertently and unexpectedly, in a gesture as simple as a handshake or a stranger's glance. In these instances I practically fall over myself and anyone in the way to get home and write the story I've created around them. The strands of thought seem to appear from nowhere, yet they feel as if they have always been a part of me, and like the cobwebs I can't reach on my foyer chandelier, they will remain. Glittering in the shifting light of day, these fragile connections remind me to look always within my heart for that which is invisible to my eyes.

On a completely different note, I have dreamt, vividly, in French for the past few nights. Problem is, I don't speak French (other than a few phrases). Apparently I understand it in my dreams though. How random is that? Maybe I need to stop perusing so many Canadian knitting blogs before bed. My subconscious self is exponentially more interesting than my waking self and that, my friends, is just sad. I wonder what Foucault would have to say about this phenomenon? I'm going to sleep on that thought and I'll give you his theory in the morning.


Mom said...

I loved this post, and the cobwebs are the best! They put the apostrophe on the old saying that a home should be clean enough to be healthy, but dirty enough to be happy! They also remind me of my mind these days! I'll share my new found French ephemera with you and maybe you can translate the pages in your dreams.

Heather said...

I don't think I've ever considered cobwebs so beautiful as I do now!! Thank you for a lovely perspective.

Left-Handed Housewife said...

Foucault would say that your dreams speak to language as another system of power and oppression, and then you would have to say, "Wow, Michel, you're a real pill," but you'd have to say it in french.

I love the photograph here--beauty!


The A.D.D. Knitter said...

Foucault might say that French is speaking you:)