Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul.
The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.
The past of the soul is so distant! The soul does not live on the edge of time. It finds its rest in the universe imagined by reverie.
Happy is the man who knows or even the man who remembers those silent vigils where silence itself was the sign of the communion of souls!
Thanks to his complex convictions, made strong with the forces of animus and anima, the alchemist believes he is seizing the soul of the world, participating in the soul of the world. Thus, from the world to the man, alchemy is a problem of souls.
It is through the intentionality of poetic imagination that the poet's soul discovers the opening of consciousness common to all true poetry.
In contrast to a dream a reverie cannot be recounted. To be communicated, it must be written, written with emotion and taste, being relived all the more strongly because it is being written down. Here, we are touching the realm of written love. It is going out of fashion, but the benefits remain. There are still souls for whom love is the contact of two poetries, the fusion of two reveries.
Ideas are refined and multiplied in the commerce of minds. In their splendor, images effect a very simple communion of souls.
The reveries of two solitary souls prepare the sweetness of loving.
The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest.
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