Dreams

Chris Stevens

Episode 3.07, "Roots"

Dreams are postcards from the subconscious, inner self to outer self, right brain trying to cross that moat to the left. All too often they come back unread: "return to sender, address unknown." That's a shame, too, because there's a whole different world out there--or in here depending on your point of view. Indeed, for all we know this very moment could be nothing more than vapors of our own imagination. As Bertrand Russell mused, "I do not believe that I am now dreaming, but I cannot prove that I am not." Point being, there's more to these nocturnal journeys than has previously been considered or accepted.

[Buy The Quotable Bertrand Russell]

A Red, Red Rose

Chris Stevens

Episode 3.09, "Get Real"

If there's nothing of substance in the world, if the ground we walk on is just a mirage, if reality itself really isn't, what are we left with, what do we hang our hat on? Magic: the stuff not ruled by rational law. Now that might not seem too comforting, but stay with me here. What's the height of the irrational, the zip code of the mysterious? Exactly.

O my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
Oh I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

[The poem is "A Red, Red Rose," found in Robert Burns: Selected Poems]

Emotional Weather Report

Chris Stevens

Episode 3.12, "Our Tribe"

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading--treading--till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through--

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum--
Kept beating--beating--till I thought
My Mind was going numb--

I think what Emily had in mind when she penned those lines was the kind of day I'm having. Emotional weather report: cloudy, with a chance of rain until later in the week when the Brick reopens. Lest we give into despair, let's put on those psychic raincoats, turn up the collars, and think about sunnier times.

[From the Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Chris plays Mood Indigo by Duke Ellington.]