I think that when we wake up, our brains reconstruct a dream from the impressions that our souls carry with them from sleep. These impressions are beyond ordinary sensations, and must therefore be interpreted by the body, namely the brain, thus giving rise to concrete memories of experiences, which, because they are so unusual, are quickly forgotten again. The correspondence between those memories and what really took place is called symbolism.
When I’m just about to fall asleep, I can sometimes see the vague impressions that would have given birth to dreams if I had allowed myself to evaporate completely. It’s possible, then, to see the dreams directly, without the veil of symbolism in between. These dream-objects seem vague and indistinct. They flow in and out of each other. They cannot be described by words. They are beautiful. They have the subtlety of the spirit.
What cannot be understood logically is most divine. Clarice Lispector writes: “I take the greatest care not to understand it. It cannot be understood and I know that if I were to understand it, it could only be in error.” The mystery of reality must be worshipped, not reduced by logical understanding. Understanding throws away details and makes the world seem uglier than it is. Understanding is destructive to the free part of the soul, since it distances it from reality itself. If we aren’t careful, we’ll come to value explanations over the mystery and thereby sever the connection between humanity and divinity.
Reality is incomprehensibly complex. Like looking into a fractal kaleidoscope, infinitely detailed, infinitely beautiful. Not even the most talented poet could describe in words a single moment, however mundane, with its full richness and precision.