posted on May, 21 2010 @ 04:14 PM
Be very sure that, when the body is asleep, a spirit enjoys the use of faculties of which he is unconscious while his body is awake. He remembers the
past, and sometimes foresees the future: he acquires more power, and is able to enter into communication with other spirits, either in this world or
in some other.
"You often say, 'I have had a strange dream, a frightful dream, without any likeness to reality' You are mistaken in thinking it to be so; for it
is often a reminiscence of places and things which you have seen in the past, or a foresight of those which you will see in another existence, or in
this one at some future time. The body being torpid, the spirit tries to break his chain, and seeks, in the past or in the future, for the means of
doing so. "Poor human beings! how little do you know of the commonest phenomena of your life! You fancy yourselves to be very learned, and you are
puzzled by the most ordinary things. To questions that any child might ask, 'What do we do when we are asleep?' 'What are dreams?' you are
incapable of replying.
"Sleep effects a partial freeing of the soul from the body. When you sleep, your spirit is, for the time being, in the state in which you will be
after your death. The spirits who at death are promptly freed from matter are those who, during their life, have had what may be called intelligent
sleep. Such persons, when they sleep, regain the society of other spirits superior to themselves. They go about with them, conversing with them, and
gaining instruction from them; they even work, in the spirit-world, at undertakings which, on dying, they find already begun or completed. From this
you see how little death should be dreaded, since, according to the saying of St. Paul, you 'die daily.'
"What we have just stated refers to spirits of an elevated degree of advancement. As for those of the common mass of men, who, after their death,
remain for long hours in the state of confusion and uncertainty of which you have been told by such, they go, during sleep, into worlds of lower rank
than the earth, to which they are drawn back by old affections, or by the attraction of pleasures still baser than those to which they are addicted in
your world; visits in which they gather ideas still viler, more ignoble, and more mischievous than those which they had professed during their waking
hours. And that which engenders sympathy in the earthly life is nothing else than the fact that you feel yourselves, on waking, affectionately
attracted towards those with whom you have passed eight or nine hours of happiness or pleasure. On the other hand, the explanation of the invincible
antipathies you sometimes feel for certain persons is also to be found in the intuitive knowledge you have thus acquired of the fact that those
persons have another conscience than yours, because you know them without having previously seen them with your bodily eyes. It is this same fact,
moreover, that explains the indifference of some people for others; they do not care to make new friends, because they know that they have others by
whom they are loved and cherished. In a word, sleep has more influence than you think upon your life.
"Through the effects of sleep, incarnated spirits are always in connection with the spirit-world; and it is in consideration of this fact that
spirits of a higher order consent, without much repugnance, to incarnate themselves among you. God has willed that, during their contact with vice,
they may go forth and fortify themselves afresh at the source of rectitude, in order that they, who have come into your world to instruct others, may
not fall into evil themselves. Sleep is the gate opened for them by God, that they may pass through it to their friends in the spirit-world; it is
their recreation after labor, while awaiting the great deliverance, the final liberation, that will restore them to their true place.
"Dreams are the remembrance of what your spirit has seen during sleep; but you must remark that you do not always dream, because you do not always
remember what you have seen, or all that you have seen. Your dreams do not always reflect the action of your soul in its full development; for they
are often only the reflex of the confusion that accompanies your departure or your return, mingled with the vague remembrance of what you have done,
or of what has occupied your thoughts, in your waking state. In what other way can you explain the absurd dreams which are dreamed by the wisest as by
the silliest of mankind? Bad spirits, also, make use of dreams to torment weak and timid souls.
"You will see, ere long, the development of another kind of dream, a kind which is as ancient as the one you know, but one of which you are ignorant.
The dream we allude to is that of Jeanne Darc,1 of Jacob, of the Jewish prophets, and of certain Hindu ascetics, a dream which is the remembrance of
the soul's experiences while entirely freed from the body, the remembrance of the second life, of which I spoke just now.
"You should carefully endeavor to distinguish these two kinds of dreams among those which you are able to recall: unless you do this, you will be in
danger of falling into contradictions and errors that would be prejudicial to your belief."
Dreams are a product of the emancipation of the soul, rendered more active by the suspension of the active life of relation, and enjoying a sort of
indefinite clairvoyance which extends to places at a great distance from us, or that we have never seen, or even to other worlds. To this state of
emancipation is also due the remembrance which retraces to our memory the events that have occurred in our present existence or in preceding
existences the strangeness of the images of what has taken place in worlds unknown to us, mixed up with the things of the present world, producing the
confused and whimsical medleys that seem to be equally devoid of connection and of meaning.
The incoherence of dreams is still farther explained by the gaps resulting from the incompleteness of our remembrance of what has appeared to us in
our nightly visions--an incompleteness similar to that of a narrative from which whole sentences, or parts of sentences, have been omitted by chance,
and whose remaining fragments, having been thrown together again at random, have lost all intelligible meaning.