the world i live in-海伦·凯勒自传(英文版)-第14章

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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　am　not　surprised；　but　keenly
disappointed。　I　finger　the　pages；　I　bend　over　them　lovingly；　the　tears
fall　on　my　hands。　I　shut　the　book　quickly　as　the　thought　passes　through
my　mind；　〃The　print　will　be　all　rubbed　out　if　I　get　it　wet。〃　Yet　there
is　no　print　tangible　on　the　page！

This　morning　I　thought　that　I　awoke。　I　was　certain　that　I　had　overslept。
I　seized　my　watch；　and　sure　enough；　it　pointed　to　an　hour　after　my
rising　time。　I　sprang　up　in　the　greatest　hurry；　knowing　that　breakfast
was　ready。　I　called　my　mother；　who　declared　that　my　watch　must　be
wrong。　She　was　positive　it　could　not　be　so　late。　I　looked　at　my　watch
again；　and　lo！　the　hands　wiggled；　whirled；　buzzed　and　disappeared。　I
awoke　more　fully　as　my　dismay　grew；　until　I　was　at　the　antipodes　of
sleep。　Finally　my　eyes　opened　actually；　and　I　knew　that　I　had　been
dreaming。　I　had　only　waked　into　sleep。　What　is　still　more　bewildering；
there　is　no　difference　between　the　consciousness　of　the　sham　waking　and
that　of　the　real　one。

It　is　fearful　to　think　that　all　that　we　have　ever　seen；　felt；　read；　and
done　may　suddenly　rise　to　our　dream…vision；　as　the　sea　casts　up　objects
it　has　swallowed。　I　have　held　a　little　child　in　my　arms　in　the　midst　of
a　riot　and　spoken　vehemently；　imploring　the　Russian　soldiers　not　to
massacre　the　Jews。　I　have　re…lived　the　agonizing　scenes　of　the　Sepoy
Rebellion　and　the　French　Revolution。　Cities　have　burned　before　my　eyes；
and　I　have　fought　the　flames　until　I　fell　exhausted。　Holocausts　overtake
the　world；　and　I　struggle　in　vain　to　save　my　friends。

Once　in　a　dream　a　message　came　speeding　over　land　and　sea　that　winter
was　descending　upon　the　world　from　the　North　Pole；　that　the　Arctic　zone
was　shifting　to　our　mild　climate。　Far　and　wide　the　message　flew。　The
ocean　was　congealed　in　midsummer。　Ships　were　held　fast　in　the　ice　by
thousands；　the　ships　with　large；　white　sails　were　held　fast。　Riches　of
the　Orient　and　the　plenteous　harvests　of　the　Golden　West　might　no　more
pass　between　nation　and　nation。　For　some　time　the　trees　and　flowers
grew　on；　despite　the　intense　cold。　Birds　flew　into　the　houses　for
safety；　and　those　which　winter　had　overtaken　lay　on　the　snow　with　wings
spread　in　vain　flight。　At　last　the　foliage　and　blossoms　fell　at　the　feet
of　Winter。　The　petals　of　the　flowers　were　turned　to　rubies　and
sapphires。　The　leaves　froze　into　emeralds。　The　trees　moaned　and　tossed
their　branches　as　the　frost　pierced　them　through　bark　and　sap；　pierced
into　their　very　roots。　I　shivered　myself　awake；　and　with　a　tumult　of　joy
I　breathed　the　many　sweet　morning　odours　wakened　by　the　summer　sun。

One　need　not　visit　an　African　jungle　or　an　Indian　forest　to　hunt　the
tiger。　One　can　lie　in　bed　amid　downy　pillows　and　dream　tigers　as
terrible　as　any　in　the　pathless　wild。　I　was　a　little　girl　when　one　night
I　tried　to　cross　the　garden　in　front　of　my　aunt's　house　in　Alabama。　I
was　in　pursuit　of　a　large　cat　with　a　great　bushy　tail。　A　few　hours
before　he　had　clawed　my　little　canary　out　of　its　cage　and　crunched　it
between　his　cruel　teeth。　I　could　not　see　the　cat。　But　the　thought　in　my
mind　was　distinct：　〃He　is　making　for　the　high　grass　at　the　end　of　the
garden。　I'll　get　there　first！〃　I　put　my　hand　on　the　box　border　and　ran
swiftly　along　the　path。　When　I　reached　the　high　grass；　there　was　the　cat
gliding　into　the　wavy　tangle。　I　rushed　forward　and　tried　to　seize　him
and　take　the　bird　from　between　his　teeth。　To　my　horror　a　huge　beast；　not
the　cat　at　all；　sprang　out　from　the　grass；　and　his　sinewy　shoulder
rubbed　against　me　with　palpitating　strength！　His　ears　stood　up　and
quivered　with　anger。　His　eyes　were　hot。　His　nostrils　were　large　and　wet。
His　lips　moved　horribly。　I　knew　it　was　a　tiger；　a　real　live　tiger；　and
that　I　should　be　devoured……my　little　bird　and　I。　I　do　not　know　what
happened　after　that。　The　next　important　thing　seldom　happens　in　dreams。

Some　time　earlier　I　had　a　dream　which　made　a　vivid　impression　upon　me。
My　aunt　was　weeping　because　she　could　not　find　me。　But　I　took　an　impis