"I went to bed, but the presence of the eiderdown, of the slim columns, of the little fireplace, by screwing up my attention to a pitch beyond that of Paris, prevented me from surrendering to the habitual routine of my musings. And as it is this particular state of attention that enfolds our slumbers, acts upon them, modifies them, bring them into line with this or that series of past impressions, the images that filled my dreams that first night were borrowed from a memory entirely distinct from that on which I was in the habit of drawing. If I had been tempted while asleep to let myself be swept back into my usual current of remembrance, the bed to which I was not accustomed, the careful attention which I was obliged to pay to the position of my limbs when I turned over, were sufficient to adjust or maintain the new thread of my dreams. It is the same with sleep as with our perception of the external world. It needs only a modification in our habits to make it poetic, it is enough that while undressing we should have dozed off on top of the bed for the dimensions of our dream-world to be altered and its beauty felt."
Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way, pp. 82-83
I was talking to a good friend of mine recently about Proust and he said he had never tackled Remembrance of Things Past, partially because he just understood it to be impenetrable. For many folks just the enormity of the novel would make reading it a daunting task (although not in this particular case because this friend is a big reader). I think for many people it is the novel's precision and incredible attention to detail that scares them off. Essentially, it's difficult to just pick it up and then revisit it a few weeks later after things have slowed down at work. One of the reasons why I'm blogging about it, and setting myself the guidelines of blogging about it everyday, is that it keeps me constantly engaged with it and thus is helping me stay at that pace and focused perception. At least on some level it is working because I'm appreciating it much more than I did twenty years ago when I read the first two volumes. Apropos of this point, in this particular passage Proust is reflecting on the "challenges" of sleeping in a different bed, which seems like the very definition of the Seinfeld line about a show about nothing. However, as is the norm with Proust, he then uses it as a jumping off point to delve into a much deeper world. Just as a different mattress will make you uncomfortable and inspire different dreams ("the images that filled my dreams that first night were borrowed from a memory entirely distinct from that on which I was in the habit of drawing") a change in your physical, but also emotional or intellectual, surroundings will change our perception, and thus ourselves. "It is the same with sleep as with our perception of the external world. It needs only a modification in our habits to make it poetic . . ." Marcus Aurelius reminds us that the soul becomes dyed by the color of its thoughts. While they are not talking about exactly the same thing, both Proust and Marcus Aurelius are talking about both the content and the form of what we are absorbing. Yesterday I was reflecting on how bored I am and I how I need to make some changes to make life more poetic. Now, the danger with that is that it, at least in my thinking, runs the danger of falling into the external locus of control side of things; essentially, that I would respond, like a puppet, to a more interesting environment and become more interesting. Rather, I think what I'm talking about is a spark, because in the end I am a firm believer that you profound changes always come from the inside out. Now, what will that spark be?
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