Have you ever found solace in your wildest daydreams when reality seems too much to bear? Today's episode unfurls the tapestry of Larry's mind, a character whose life, marred by solitude and hardship, transforms through the power of imagination. Within the narrative of "The Waking Soul," we accompany Larry on his escapades beneath canopies and azure skies, where he conjures warriors and maidens that offer him a fleeting respite. His journey is a testament to the boundless creativity that can bloom even in the bleakest of times, and I'm eager to share with you the profound tranquility and inspiration that spring from Larry's fantastical musings. So, snuggle up in your blankets & have sweet dreams.
The music in this episode is Bubbles by Artur Sokolovskiy.
BetterHelp Visit our sponsor at BetterHelp.com/dreamful for 10% off your first month.
Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase, I may receive a commission at no extra cost to you.
Have you ever found solace in your wildest daydreams when reality seems too much to bear? Today's episode unfurls the tapestry of Larry's mind, a character whose life, marred by solitude and hardship, transforms through the power of imagination. Within the narrative of "The Waking Soul," we accompany Larry on his escapades beneath canopies and azure skies, where he conjures warriors and maidens that offer him a fleeting respite. His journey is a testament to the boundless creativity that can bloom even in the bleakest of times, and I'm eager to share with you the profound tranquility and inspiration that spring from Larry's fantastical musings. So, snuggle up in your blankets & have sweet dreams.
The music in this episode is Bubbles by Artur Sokolovskiy.
BetterHelp Visit our sponsor at BetterHelp.com/dreamful for 10% off your first month.
Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase, I may receive a commission at no extra cost to you.
Welcome to Dreamful Podcast bedtime stories for slumber. I would like to start this episode by thanking our newest supporters, cooper Fitch, sheena Centner and Shannon Partcher. Thank you all so much, and I hope you have the sweetest of dreams. If you would like to support the show and gain access to subscriber-only episodes while receiving a shout out, visit DreamfulStories. com and, on the support page, find a link to become a Buzzsprout supporter or subscribe via Supercast if you list on Spotify. This show is sponsored by BetterHelp.
Jordan:
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Jordan:
In this episode I will be reading a short story about dreams and inspiration, called the waking soul. So snuggle up your blankets and have sweet dreams. Larry lay under the trees upon the soft green grass with his hat tilted far forward over his eyes and his grimy hands clasped together beneath his head, wishing with all his might first one thing and then another, but always that it was not so warm. When the children had gone to school in the morning, they had seen Larry's figure as they passed along the street, stretched out full length beneath the trees near the gutter curbstone, and when they returned there, he was still.
Jordan:
They looked at him with curiosity and some of the boys even paused beside him and went over to see if he or son struck he. Let them talk about him and discuss him and wonder at him, as they would never stirring and scarcely daring to breathe, lest they be induced to stay and question him. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to lie lazily under the trees and watch the sun beams as they flirted with the leaves and hear the birds gossip with one another, and feel the breeze as it touched his hot temples and soothed him with its soft grasses. Across the street, upon someone's fence, rail climbed a honeysuckle vine and every now and then Larry caught a whiff of a faint perfume as the breeze fitted by. He wished the breeze would carry heavier loads of it and come oftener. It was tantalising to get just one breath and no more in this way, but then that was always the case with Larry. He seemed to get a hint of so many things and no more than any of that.
Jordan:
Often, when he was lying as he was now, under green trees beneath blue skies, he would see the most beautiful pictures before his eyes. Perhaps they were the clouds that drew them for him, and sometimes the trees. He would perhaps be feeling particularly forlorn and tired and would fling himself down to rest. And then, in a moment, just for all the world, as though the skies were sorry for him and wanted to help him forget his troubles, he would see the white drifts overhead and change, and there would be a vision of a magnificent man, larger and more beautiful than an immortal. And then Larry would hold his breath in ecstasy, while the man's face grew gray and dark and his strong arm seemed to lift and beckon to something from afar. And then from out, a great stack of clouds would break, one milk white one which, when Larry all closer, would prove to be a colossal steed. And in an instant, in the most remarkable way, the form of the man would be mounted upon the back of the coarser and there would be speeding off toward the west. And then Larry would lose sight of them just at the very moment when he would have given worlds to see more, for by this time the skies would have grown black, perhaps, and down would come the rain in perfect torrents, sending Larry to his feet and scuttling off into somebody's area way for shelter, and there he would crouch and think about his vision fencing to himself his great warrior doing battle with the sea, the sea lashing up its way of horses, till they rose high upon their haunches, their gray backs curving outward, their foamy mains aquiver their white forelegs madly pawing the air, till with a wild whinny they would plunge headlong upon the beach to be pierced by the thousand rain arrows the cloud god sent, swirling down from above and sink backward, faint and trembling, to be overtaken and trampled out of sight by the next frenzy column behind.
Jordan:
Oh, it sent Larry's glad tingling through his veins to see it all so plainly. And he did not feel the chill of his wet rags about him nor the clutch of hunger in his poor, empty stomach when the spirit of the storm rode out before his very eyes to wage his mighty war. And then, at other times, it would all be quite different and he would see the figures of beautiful maidens and gossamer garments, and they would seem to be at play, ringing flecks of sunlight this way and that, or winding and unwinding their flaky veils to fling them softly across the face of the sun. But none of these wondrous visions lasted. They remained long enough to waken Larry's heart, a great longing for more. And then they would disappear and he would be all the lonelier for the lack of them. That was the greatest of his discouragements. What would he care for heat or cold, or hunger or thirst if he could only cash out these fleeting pictures once for all, so that he could always gaze at them and dream over them and make them his forever? That was one of the things for which Larry was wishing.
Jordan:
As he lay under the trees that summer day, he was thinking if there is only some way of getting them down from there, it seems to me I'd do anything in the world to be able to get them down from there. I said no, you wouldn't, said a low voice next to his ear. No, you wouldn't. You lie here in wish and wonder all day long, but you wouldn't take the first step to bring your pictures down from heaven. For a moment Larry was so mightily surprised that he found himself quite at a loss for words, for there was no one nearer to be seen who could possibly have addressed him. But presently he gained voice to say oh, I know I couldn't get him. Of course folks can't reach up and bring clouds down out of the sky. I didn't say anything about clouds, nor about the sky, returned the voice. I was speaking about pictures and heaven. Folks can reach up and bring pictures down out of heaven. It's done every day. Geniuses do it. Who is geniuses?
Jordan:
Asked on taut, larry, people who can get near enough heaven to catch glimpses of its wonderful beauty and painted on canvases or carved in marble for the whole world to see, or who hear snatches of its music and set them upon paper for the world to hear, and they are called artists and sculptors and composers and poets. What takes them up to heaven, larry? Inspiration? Answered the voice. I don't know about that. I've never seen it.
Jordan:
The boy returned. Is it death? No, it is life. But you wouldn't understand if I could explain it, which I cannot. No one understands it, but it is there just the same. You have it, but you do not know how to use it. Yet you never will, unless you do something besides lie beneath the trees and dream. Why can't you do something? Oh, I'm tired of all the things I'm not doing, said Larry in his petulant, whimsical way. For a little the voice was silent and Larry was beginning to fear it had fled and deserted him like all the rest. When it spoke again in its low toned murmur, like the breath of a breeze.
Jordan:
I said it is cruel to make a good wish and then leave it to wander about the world, weak and struggling, always trying to be fulfilled and never succeeding because it has not given strength enough. What makes a nameless want in the world, and people's hearts ache for it and long to be satisfied. They somehow feel there is somewhere a blessing that might be blessed, a beauty that should be more beautiful. It is then that the little and fledged wish is near and they feel its longing to be made complete, to be given wings and power, to rise to heaven. Yes, one ought not to make a good wish and let it go, not to perish, for nothing is lost in this world but to be unfulfilled forever. One ought to strengthen it day by day until it changes from a wish to an endeavor, and then, day by day, from an endeavor to an achievement, and then the world is better for it and glad of it, and its record goes above. If all the people who wished to do wonderful things did them. How blessed it would be if all the people who wished to be good were good. Then there would be no more disappointment, no tears, no heartache in this world.
Jordan:
Larry pondered an instant after the voice had ceased and then said slowly I kinda think I know what you mean. You think I ought to be working, but what could I do? There ain't nothing I could be doing? Didn't I hear you complaining of me a little while ago because I did not carry heavy and left loads of honeysuckle scent and did not come often enough? I carried all I was able to bear for I'm not very strong nowadays and I came as often as I could. In fact, I did my best the first thing that came to hand. I want you to do the same. That is duty. I don't bear malice toward you because you were dissatisfied with me. You did not know If you tried the best you could and people complained. You ought not to let their discontent discourage you. I brought you with a perfume. You can bring someone a sincere effort. Buy and buy.
Jordan:
When I am stronger and can blow good gales and send the great ship safely into port and woff to land the fragrant smell of their spicy cargo, you may be doing some greater work and giving the world something it has been waiting for. The world don't wait for things. Senile, it goes right on. It doesn't care. I'm hungry and ragged and I have no place to sleep. But the world ain't waiting for me to get things to eat, no clothes to my back nor a soft bed. It ain't waiting for nothing. As I can see, I ain't got nobody. I'm all by myself. It does not stand still, replied the voice, but it is waiting nevertheless.
Jordan:
Suppose for years and years you have been dreaming of a friend who is to fill your world with beauty as no one else could do, who, among all others in the world, will be the only one who can show you how fair life is, while you will not stand still and do nothing. What time you are watching for her coming? You would always be waiting for her, and when she was there, you would be glad. That is how the world feels about us geniuses, those who it needs to make it more wonderful and great. It is waiting for you. Don't disappoint it. It would make you sad and to death if the friend of whom you had dreamed of should not come at last, would it not?
Jordan:
Larry nodded his head in ascent. Does it always know him, he asked. I mean, does the world always be sure, when the person comes, Is the one it dreamed of the adbe dreamer of someone who was beautiful and maybe the real one wouldn't look like what I thought, and I let her go by. Ah, little Lawrence. The world has failed. So too it has let its beloved ones go by, and then, when it was too late, it is called after them and pleading to return. They never come back, but the world keeps repeating their names forever. That is its punishment and their fame. What does it need me for, ask Larry. It needs you to paint for it the pictures you see amid the clouds and on the earth. Can't they see him, quared the boy? No, not, as you can. Their sight is not clear enough. How am I to get the thing you spoke about that takes me up to heaven, so as I can bring down the beautiful thing I see Inquared Larry, where is it? Inspiration, ask the voice that is everywhere, all about you, within and without you. But now I must leave you. I have given you my message. Give the world yours, and the voice sees Larry stretched out his hands and cried Come back, we'll come back, but the echo of his own words was all he heard.
Jordan:
In response, he lay quite motionless and still for some time after that, thinking about all the voices said to him. And when, finally, he pushed his hat back from before his eyes, he saw the starlit sky smiling down upon him, and then, from behind a dark cloud, he saw the radiant moon appear, and it seemed to him like the most beautiful worn space he could imagine, peering out from the shadow of her own dusky hair. To welcome the night. He got upon his feet as well as he could, for he was very stiff with lying so long, and stumbled on towards some dark nook or cranny where he could huddle, unseen until the morning, his head full of plans for the morrow and his heart beating high with courage and hope. He would dream no more but labour. He would work at the first thing that came to hand and then perhaps that wonderful thing which the voice had called inspiration would come to him. He thought inspiration must be some sort of a magical ladder that was invisible to all but those given special sight to see and power to use it. If he ever caught a glimpse of it, he intended to take hold at once and climbed straight up to the blessed regions above and, dreaming of all he could see there, he fell asleep In the morning.
Jordan:
He was awake bright and early and, stretching himself with a long drawn yawn, set out to find some way of procuring himself a breakfast, First at one shop door and then at another. He stopped popping in his shaggy head and asking the man inside, give me a job, mister. And being in reply promptly invited to clear out. But it took more than this to discourage Larry, heartened as he was by the remembrance of his visions the day before and on and on, he went Until. At last, in answer to his question, he was bidden to say what it was he could do. I can lift and haul and run errands and all sorts of work about the place, inserting the action to the words. He shouldered a heavy packing case and was out upon the sidewalk and depositing it upon a wagon already piled with trunks and luggage before the man had time to reply. When he returned to the doorstep he was greeted with a grateful intelligence that he might stay a bit and see how he got along as an errand boy.
Jordan:
If he liked, and of course liking, he started in at once upon his new office. That was the beginning. It gave him occupation and food, but scarcely more than that. At first he had no time for dreaming now, but often when he had a brief moment to himself, he would take out of his pocket the piece of chalk with which he marked the trunks he carried and sketch with it upon some rough box lid or other picture of a face or form which he saw in his fancy, so that after time he was known among the men as the artist feller and grew to have quite a little reputation among them. How the rest came about, even Larry himself found it hard to tell. But by and by he was drawing with pencil and pen and selling his sketches for what he could get, buying now a brush and then some paints with the scanty proceeds and working upon his bits of canvas with all the ardor of a Raphael himself.
Jordan:
A man sat before an easel in a crowded studio. One day. Give the last touch to a painting that stood before him, he pictured the figure of a lad, ragged and forlorn, lying asleep beneath some shothering trees. At first this seems all there was to be seen upon the canvas, but if one looked closer one was able to discover another figure. Amid the vaporous, soft glooms of the place, it grew ever more distinct until one had no difficulty distinguishing the form of a maiden, fair and frail as a dream, she was bending over the slumbering body of the boy, as if to arouse him to life by the whispered words she was breathing against his cheek.
Jordan:
The artist scrawled his signature in the corner of his completed work and set the canvas in its frame, and then stood before it, scrutinizing it closely, with a waking soul. I wonder if that is a good name for it. But Marti, told himself. And then, after a moment, he said to the picture of the lad Well, larry, little fellow, the dreams come true. And here we are, you and I, you, larry and I, lawrence, with the wish grown strong to an endeavor and the endeavor to an achievement. Are you glad, boy?
Jordan:
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