Dont wakeup from your dreams…

Correspondences

Nature is a temple where living pillars
Let sometimes emerge confused words;
Man crosses it through forests of symbols
Which watch him with intimate eyes.

Like those deep echoes that meet from afar
In a dark and profound harmony,
As vast as night and clarity,
So perfumes, colors, tones answer each other.

There are perfumes fresh as children’s flesh,
Soft as oboes, green as meadows,
And others, corrupted, rich, triumphant,

Possessing the diffusion of infinite things,
Like amber, musk, incense and aromatic resin,
Chanting the ecstasies of spirit and senses.

The waking world will speak to us in the manner of a dream if we are paying attention. Wind and rain, leaf and mountain, whisper and cry to us in their many voices. Through the play of meaningful coincidence, forces of the world behind the veil of our consensual hallucinations come to bring us awake. The active, awakened dreamer senses himself walking, every day, in the forest of living symbols that Charles Baudelaire evoked, with poetic clarity, in this poem.

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