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A dream reality ...!
Dreams do have a purpose; they allow us that momentary vision of taking a glimpse into the ‘realities’ of our inner world, a world of our innate longings, bringing satiation and touching us in a way that we can perhaps never do in our waking state

THE OPENING line, ’Memory’s finally found what it was after’, of the 1996 Literature Nobel Laureate, Wislawa Szymborska’s poem Memory Finally, clearly speaks of a dream sequence, which the poet records as vividly as she had seen and it springs from an inveterate desire of her seeking – that of finding her parents who, probably during the time of German invasion in Poland and in the melee that followed, had resulted in the separation of the family. The next line, ’My mother has turned up and my father has been spotted’, asserts this idea.

She dreams that her parents are seated on two chairs against a table. Since in dreams no doubts can exist, she sees them as real-life figures, faintly aware also at the back of her consciousness that they are not, as suggested by the word ’again’ alive for her. To her, the faces long since lost, appear so immensely adorable with the light of living that even as the time is one of progressive falling of darkness, with the setting sun at dusk, they glow; and the radiance that shone with brightness on their countenance, she imagines, were fit for a painting by Rembrandt.

The second and the third stanzas are a comparison and contrast, as when she realises that against the dreams she has had in the past, where she saw but only fleeting images of them - in the crowds, dragging them from underneath the wheels they were run over with, sympathetically moaning with them on their deathbeds, all that these dreams were, but never ’straight’ – all were very sorrowful images. But this time the dream is joyful, the fleeting glimpses become integrated. There is none of the empty gawking gaze of the past when, spotting her mother in the crowds, her exhilaration being that of a bouncing chirpy bird, she would call out to her, ’Mom, Mom’ or to her father too, who sported a pigtail hair, the insensate crowd would only make fun of, to her great embarrassment. Also, there were no responses, no gestures, no replies from her parents, but only a deathly bland stare that would make her soul’s yearning turn into one of despair, lost hope and melancholy.

This ’ordinary Friday’, however, is no ordinary; it is extraordinary. Because, it is for the first time that she sees them inside her home, not outside in the crowds, and exactly as she had so longingly desired for all her life – to see them live - the dream thus becoming the source of her utter delight. It was a dream all right, but not quite a dream too; it was ’freed from dreams’. They were just as they would – ’themselves’, real. The picture is so life-like that against its background, all the vague unrealities of her previous visions dimmed into oblivion and in its stead, it shone beautiful in its aliveness and it lasted for a long, long happy time.

She woke up, opened her eyes to the reality of the world - the reality no longer remaining a reality - it was but as if a dream come true. Etched in her memory was a chiseled picture-frame she would cherish for life.

Dreams do have a purpose; they allow us that momentary vision of taking a glimpse into the ‘realities’ of our inner world, a world of our innate longings, bringing satiation and touching us in a way that we can perhaps never, in our waking state.

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