The Divinatory Crowd of Dreams

 

Dream time does not exist like clocks time.
One of my earliest memories is an archaic dream from my early childhood, I was maybe four years old…
Dreams have always fascinated me, and I am convinced that I will never be able to forget some dreams that have been engraved in my mind in the same way that Antonin Artaud’s words « There is magic in living » have been engraved.
All societies have drawn on the resources of dreams, which tap into the mysterious essence of the mind steeped in magical thinking…
Manifestation of the beyond, prophecies, messages from the spirits, dreams have always been subject to interpretation long before the invention of psychoanalysis…
Eros and Thanatos have become life instinct and death instinct… but healing through the formulation of the dream message remains a form of magical thinking…
The dream is our inner nature that echoes the nature of the world…
The dream writes itself like a wild plant that grows alone in the earth, it is telluric and ethereal, it is rooted in the impulsive body, and at the same time it flies away to travel the irrational field…
Art is a kind of waking dream, and art like dreams is often visionary…
The dream is also premonitory in that it is the beginning of the act of creation… the dream opens onto another dream… even more delirious… the poem is the dream of the dream.
The poem, like the dream, is a numinous fragment of magic, a thousand-faceted mirror in which everyone can read his own reality…
I think the poet’s way of being in the world is animist… he feels the vibrations of life… of dream of reality…
the enigmatic dimension of the dream is the source of his inspiration… rather than seeking reality through interpretation, he creates the reality of his dream…