the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第12章

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paltry　few　thousand　years？　Oh；　the　supercilious　doubters！　They　ever
strive　to　clip　the　upward　daring　wings　of　the　spirit。

A　person　deprived　of　one　or　more　senses　is　not；　as　many　seem　to　think；
turned　out　into　a　trackless　wilderness　without　landmark　or　guide。　The
blind　man　carries　with　him　into　his　dark　environment　all　the　faculties
essential　to　the　apprehension　of　the　visible　world　whose　door　is　closed
behind　him。　He　finds　his　surroundings　everywhere　homogeneous　with　those
of　the　sunlit　world；　for　there　is　an　inexhaustible　ocean　of　likenesses
between　the　world　within；　and　the　world　without；　and　these　likenesses；
these　correspondences；　he　finds　equal　to　every　exigency　his　life　offers。

The　necessity　of　some　such　thing　as　correspondence　or　symbolism　appears
more　and　more　urgent　as　we　consider　the　duties　that　religion　and
philosophy　enjoin　upon　us。

The　blind　are　expected　to　read　the　Bible　as　a　means　of　attaining
spiritual　happiness。　Now；　the　Bible　is　filled　throughout　with　references
to　clouds；　stars；　colours；　and　beauty；　and　often　the　mention　of　these　is
essential　to　the　meaning　of　the　parable　or　the　message　in　which　they
occur。　Here　one　must　needs　see　the　inconsistency　of　people　who　believe
in　the　Bible；　and　yet　deny　us　a　right　to　talk　about　what　we　do　not　see；
and　for　that　matter　what　_they_　do　not　see；　either。　Who　shall　forbid　my
heart　to　sing：　〃Yea；　he　did　fly　upon　the　wings　of　the　wind。　He　made
darkness　his　secret　place；　his　pavilion　round　about　him　were　dark　waters
and　thick　clouds　of　the　skies〃？

Philosophy　constantly　points　out　the　untrustworthiness　of　the　five
senses　and　the　important　work　of　reason　which　corrects　the　errors　of
sight　and　reveals　its　illusions。　If　we　cannot　depend　on　five　senses；　how
much　less　may　we　rely　on　three！　What　ground　have　we　for　discarding
light；　sound；　and　colour　as　an　integral　part　of　our　world？　How　are　we　to
know　that　they　have　ceased　to　exist　for　us？　We　must　take　their　reality
for　granted；　even　as　the　philosopher　assumes　the　reality　of　the　world
without　being　able　to　see　it　physically　as　a　whole。

Ancient　philosophy　offers　an　argument　which　seems　still　valid。　There　is
in　the　blind　as　in　the　seeing　an　Absolute　which　gives　truth　to　what　we
know　to　be　true；　order　to　what　is　orderly；　beauty　to　the　beautiful；
touchableness　to　what　is　tangible。　If　this　is　granted；　it　follows　that
this　Absolute　is　not　imperfect；　inplete；　partial。　It　must　needs　go
beyond　the　limited　evidence　of　our　sensations；　and　also　give　light　to
what　is　invisible；　music　to　the　musical　that　silence　dulls。　Thus　mind
itself　pels　us　to　acknowledge　that　we　are　in　a　world　of　intellectual
order；　beauty；　and　harmony。　The　essences；　or　absolutes　of　these　ideas；
necessarily　dispel　their　opposites　which　belong　with　evil；　disorder　and
discord。　Thus　deafness　and　blindness　do　not　exist　in　the　immaterial
mind；　which　is　philosophically　the　real　world；　but　are　banished　with　the
perishable　material　senses。　Reality；　of　which　visible　things　are　the
symbol；　shines　before　my　mind。　While　I　walk　about　my　chamber　with
unsteady　steps；　my　spirit　sweeps　skyward　on　eagle　wings　and　looks　out
with　unquenchable　vision　upon　the　world　of　eternal　beauty。




THE　DREAM　WORLD




XIII

THE　DREAM　WORLD


EVERYBODY　takes　his　own　dreams　seriously；　but　yawns　at　the
breakfast…table　when　somebody　else　begins　to　tell　the　adventures　of　the
night　before。　I　hesitate；　therefore；　to　enter　upon　an　account　of　my
dreams；　for　it　is　a　literary　sin　to　bore　the　reader；　and　a　scientific
sin　to　report　the　facts　of　a　far　country　with　more　regard　to　point　and
brevity　than　to　plete　and　literal　truth。　The　psychologists　have
trained　a　pack　of　theories　and　facts　which　they　keep　in　leash；　like　so
many　bulldogs；　and　which　they　let　loose　upon　us　whenever　we　depart　from
the　straight　and　narrow　path　of　dream　probability。　One　may　not　even　tell
an　entertaining　dream　without　being　suspected　of　having　liberally　edited
it；……as　if　editing　were　one　of　the　seven　deadly　sins；　instead　of　a
useful　and　honourable　occupation！　Be　it　understood；　then；　that　I　am
discoursing　at　my　own　breakfast…table；　and　that　no　scientific　man　is
present　to　trip　the　autocrat。

I　used　to　wonder　why　scientific　men　and　others　were　always　asking　me
about　my　dreams。　But　I　am　not　surprised　now；　since　I　have　discovered
what　some　of　them　believe　to　be　the　ordinary　waking　experience　of　one
who　is　both　deaf　and　blind。　They　think　that　I　can　know　very　little　about
objects　even　a　few　feet　beyond　the　reach　of　my　arms。　Everything　outside
of　myself；　according　to　them；　is　a　hazy　blur。　Trees；　mountains；　cities；
the　ocean；　even　the　house　I　live　in　are　but　fairy　fabrications；　misty
unrealities。　Therefore　it　is　assumed　that　my　dreams　should　have　peculiar
interest　for　the　man　of　science。　In　some　undefined　way　it　is　expected
that　they　should　reveal　the　world　I　dwell　in　to　be　flat；　formless；
colourless；　without　perspective；　with　little　thickness　and　less
solidity……a　vast　solitude　of　soundless　space。　But　who　shall　put　into
words　limitless；　visionless；　silent　void？　One　should　be　a　disembodied
spirit　indeed　to　make　anything　out　of　such　insubstantial　experiences。　A
world；　or　a　dream　for　that　matter；　to　be　prehensible　to　us；　must；　I
should　think；　have　a　warp　of　substance　woven　into　the　woof　of　fantasy。
We　cannot　imagine　even　in　dreams　an　object　which　has　no　counterpart　in
reality。　Ghosts　always　resemble　somebody；　and　if　they　do　not　appear
themselves；　their　presence　is　indicated　by　circumstances　with　which　we
are　perfectly　familiar。

During　sleep　we　enter　a　strange；　mysterious　realm　which　science　has　thus
far　not　explored。　Beyond　the　border…line　of　slumber　the　investigator　may
not　pass　with　his　mon…sense　rule　and　test。　Sleep　with　softest　touch
locks　all　the　gates　of　our　physical　senses　and　lulls　to　rest　the
conscious　will……the　disciplinarian　of　our　waking　thoughts。　Then　the
spirit　wrenches　itself　free　from　the　sinewy　arms　of　reason　and　like　a
winged　courser　spurns　the　firm　green　earth　and　speeds　away　upon　wind
and　cloud；　leaving　neither　trace　nor　footprint　by　which　science　may
track　its　flight　and　bring　us　knowledge　of　the　distant；　shadowy　country
that　we　nightly　visit。　When　we　e　back　from　the　dream…realm；　we　can
give　no　reasonable　report　of　what　we　met　there。　But　once　across　the
border；　we　feel　at　home　as　if　we　had　always　lived　there　and　had　never
made　any　excursions　into　this　rational　daylight　world。

My　dreams　do　not　seem　to　differ　very　much　from　the　dreams　of　other
people。　Some　of　them　are　coherent　and　safely　hitched　to　an　event　or　a
conclusion。　Others　are　inconsequent　and　fantastic。　All　attest　that　in
Dreamland　there　is　no　such　thing　as　repose。　We　are　always　up　and　doing
with　a　mind　for　any　adventure。　We　act；　strive；　think；　suffer　and　are
glad　to　no　purpose。　We　leave　outside　the　portals　of　Sleep　all
troublesome　incredulities　and　vexatious　speculations　as　to　probability。
I　float　wraith…like　upon　clouds　in　and　out　among　the　winds；　without　the
faintest　notion　that　I　am　doing　anything　unusual。　In　Dreamland　I　find
little　that　is　altogether　strange　or　wholly　new　to　my　experience。　No
matter　what　happens；　I　am　not　astonished；　however　extraordinary　the
circumstances　may　be。　I　visit　a　foreign　land　where　I　have　not　been　in
reality；　and　I　converse　with　peoples　whose　language　I　have　never　heard。
Yet　we　manage　to　understand　each　other　perfectly。　Into　whatsoever
situation　or　society　my　wanderings　bring　me；　there　is　the　same
homogeneity。　If　I　happen　into　Vagabondia；　I　make　merry　with　the　jolly
folk　of　the　road　or　the　tavern。

I　do　not　remember　ever　to　have　met　persons　with　whom　I　could　not　at　once
municate；　or　to　have　been　shocked　or　surprised　at　the　doings　of　my
dream…panions。　In　its　strange　wanderings　in　those　dusky　groves　of
Slumberland　my　soul　takes　everything　for　granted　and　adapts　itself　to
the　wildest　phantoms。　I　am　seldom　confused。　Everything　is　as　clear　as
day。　I　know　events　the　instant　they　take　place；　and　wherever　I　turn　my
steps；　Mind　is　my　faithful　guide　and　interpreter。

I　suppose　every　one　has　had　in　a　dream　the　exasperating；　profitless
experience　of　seeking　something　urgently　desired　at　the　moment；　and　the
aching；　weary　sensation　that　follows　each　failure　to　track　the　thing　to
its　hiding…place。　Sometimes　with　a　singing　dizziness　in　my　head　I　climb
and　climb；　I　know　not　where　or　why。　Yet　I　cannot　quit　the　torturing；
passionate　endeavour；　though　again　and　again　I　reach　out　blindly　for　an
object　to　hold　to。　Of　course　according　to　the　perversity　of　dreams　there
is　no　object　near。　I　clutch　empty　air；　and　then　I　fall　downward；　and
still　downward；　and　in　the　midst　of　the　fall　I　dissolve　into　the
atmosphere　upon　which　I　have　been　floating　so　precariously。

Some　of　my　dreams　seem　to　be　traced　one　within　another　like　a　series　of
concentric　circles。　In　sleep　I　think　I　cannot　sleep。　I　toss　about　in　the
toils　of　tasks　unfinished。　I　decide　to　get　up　and　read　for　a　while。　I
know　the　shelf　in　my　library　where　I　keep　the　book　I　want。　The　book　has
no　name；　but　I　find　it　without　difficulty。　I　settle　myself　fortably
in　the　morris…chair；　the　great　book　open　on　my　knee。　Not　a　word　can　I
make　out；　the　pages　are　utterly　blank。　I　a