By James Wadman
Take a deep breath before you read this one.
I do not believe in the open discussion of my own poetry, but the poem “Winter White Dream” gives me the opportunity to discuss an element of the human mind that does not often come up in casual conversation. I wrote the poem just after waking up; the words flowed into my mind as if I were scripting a memoir, only it seemed more vivid even than a memory. Though in the dream I turned away, and was happy with merely the moments I spent on the cable car, a sudden feeling of regret came over me once the writing of the poem had come and gone.
I wondered why on earth would I ever let something so important to me in a single moment leave forever in the next moment. And from that simple sacrifice in my dream, I learned that the logical structure of dream perception is ultimately so much different than the real world. From the ambiguity of our origin to the supposed damnation of our universe’s fate, and from the prevalence of danger as the source of nearly all creation to even the inevitable societal interactions of violence and corruption across the entire history of life on earth, the natural orientation of the universe is and will always be without objective purpose.
And it is from this monumentally conducive portrait of pure absurdity that I derive not only my evident philosophical views of existentialism, but also my sense of individuality. As such, the world around me may be without reason or purpose, and my tiny footprint might be as obsolete to the distant stars as the legacy I leave behind, but in my world and in my dreams, I am the purpose. So, yes, in this dream I turned my back on what could have been the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, but I did not lose her, for this dream will always be with me as a symbol of my heart and my humanity.