From childhood, we rehearse what we dread.
We suppose this somehow helps us survive.
Some of us take our dreams for warnings,
Others for rehearsal. We’re not immortal yet.
If dreams are helping us, they’re not helping
Much. And maybe we shouldn’t be so quick
To assume. However adaptive dreams are
For prey and predators keeping in practice,
In beasts whose heads already hang heavily
Dripping with culture, dreams demand
Interpretation, demand words and constrain
Them, torment the culture possessed, not
With useful practice but with dark confusion.
We can’t let them go. We must discuss them
And hope to create strategic stories of them.
If we have any adaptation, it’s to mostly
Forget them, and that we do imperfectly.
We are to dreams as australopithecines were
To hanging out in trees. We won’t be free
From the forest completely, until we evolve
The traits that let us finally walk far, far away.
No comments:
Post a Comment