Dream and a Poem

Dream and a Poem

I had a dream. This was it. And no, I am not writing, just moving through what passes in my mind, without thought.

My dream: in two parts:

1.a god told me in a dream to pull a string from a bundle of sticks…but only when the moon is red and women let down their hair, dancing…then, words will come to you, spinning in on themselves, creating light.

2. the god came back: it said, talk to the voices in your head, they will tell you more of their story. write that down. sleep in the grass after it rains. listen, all the gods have stars inside their bones.

And now, a poem by a wonderful poet, George Santayana

The Power of Art

NOT human art, but living gods alone
Can fashion beauties that by changing live,–
Her buds to spring, his fruits to autumn give,
To earth her fountains in her heart of stone;
But these in their begetting are o’erthrown,
Nor may the sentenced minutes find reprieve;
And summer in the blush of joy must grieve
To shed his flaunting crown of petals blown.
We to our works may not impart our breath,
Nor them with shifting light of life array;
We show but what one happy moment saith;
Yet may our hands immortalize the day
When life was sweet, and save from utter death
The sacred past that should not pass away.

-George Santayana


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