Saturday, May 15, 2010
I wonder what visions fill Landon's infant head while he sleeps, what imaginings cause him to stir and make these soft, murmuring sounds. Swaddled securely in his flannel blanket, he seems to dream--as if he sees things that move him to action.
But how is this possible? Newborns' film-covered eyes see almost nothing and he's barely opened them in his first few days. Perhaps he doesn't see as we do when we dream, but merely feels. The memory of the struggle from womb to world may be what moves him. I prefer to think that he dreams of a faraway home made of stardust where he lived in happy oblivion as he makes the transition from there to here.
As in William Wordsworth's mystic words...
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Ode. Intimations of Immortality (1807) st. 5