“we thus discover within ourselves an immobile childhood,
a childhood without becoming. . . “
Air vibrates through a stone wall. A living object is in the wall.
Dreaming fixed, you dream a fissure, but what fissure
“never opened to a wellspring?” (I imagine the waters hung
with nazars against malefice.)
Vaulted retina and nerve, this origin opens. Canticles of illusion
palpate at the shoreline out of reach. Or recedes. For some,
this shimmering is all. Or an in-hand deficit.
See: notes on permanence.
The bare opening of a levered window. “What’s next,
what’s next” he said. “In a nameless hour, the world is affirmed
for what it is” she said. “Shameless–!” he said. I had been dreaming up
reasons from patterns in this stone, this refraction
as the plumb line up from water’s dire utility.
Count of Villiers de L’Isle-Adam, Isis (1862).
Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Reverie (1971) originally published as La Poetique de la Reverie (1960).