In my previous post I mentioned searching my journals to remind myself the details of a dream I had some 18 years ago, to do with broken limbs, an Indian, and a white horse. I haven’t found those details yet, but I did stumble across my writing about another dream that I’d been meaning to find.
On first encountering Alain-Fournier’s The Lost Estate (also translated from the French variously as Le Grande Meaulnes or The Wanderer) sometime in the last year or two, I was rather surprised and excited to read the back cover blurb for the novel:
“…when he disappears for several days, and returns with tales of a strange party at a mysterious house and a beautiful girl hidden within it, Meaulnes has been changed forever. In his restless search for his Lost Estate and the happiness he found there, Meaulnes…may risk losing everything he ever had.”
– fROM THE pENGUIN cLASSICS 2007 EDITION
The reason for my excitement was because this description of the events of the novel reminded me of a dream I had had, again 18 years ago (!?), of meeting a woman in a garden (in a dream) and so desperately wondering how I might ever see her again. At the time of the dream, I wrote these words on 23 February 1996:
“I can’t explain this on paper or in words, but i shall try.
Kisses from painted face girl / quick kisses planted / sisters so beautiful / names i can’t remember.
Holds my hand / the magic words (i can’t remember these either) / i repeat with help / hold her hand she says the words / i can’t remember on my own / we fall backwards through worlds.
How will i ever meet her again? / How?
spinning windows gardens lawns fountains trees lakes paths / worlds spinning / what a beautiful whoosh
girl i met / in my dreams / in other worlds
can we arrange / another meeting
Sometime more recently I acquired a Penguin Classics 1984 edition of this book and was intrigued by these words on the back cover blurb:
” …a masterly exploration of the twilight world…”
Now, I haven’t managed to read this novel yet and, years after the fact, I suppose I will never meet that girl again. I’m left wondering about some Jungian archetype, some similarity between my dream and the premise of this since-learnt-about novel first published in 1913.