CHAPTER VII

DREAMS THAT HAVE COME TRUE

"For so He Giveth Unto His Beloved in Sleep."-Psalm CXVII.

The intensity of certain conditions of dream consciousness has wrested from dogmatic physiology a reluctant admission that under given circumstances certain dreams must originate in something beyond mere concentration of vision, or a reflex of outside impressions and influences. The mysterious and frequently decried dream faculty, having been variously productive of marvels unbelievable save for indisputable evidence, has compelled the attention of the skeptics.

In ancient times the dream faculty was conceded without question and reverently accorded to the priesthood and to women, in which latter cases the gift brought hierophantic privileges. Among the Druids of Gaul and Ireland there were ten prophetesses to one prophet, a condition that Edouard Schure considers led to the eventual downfall of the Druidical faith, for as their strength increased, the priestesses grew tyrannical. Yet with or without priestly privileges, women have ever woven their dreams as they have woven the garments of their loved ones, drawing exquisite hopes into the bright threads of the tissue, and even to-day when the world of spinning, weaving women is passed away, the women tint their dreams with the bright hues of the dreamer's hope. Thus each mother has her own dream of the life that is given her to bring into the world, and that the child may chance to lack the magic touch that gives to earth its genius, saint or avatar, is due to no weakness of the loving maternal wish, but lies with the destiny that shapes the human soul. At times, after

the fashion of all dreamings, the vision fades with the mother's waking, or again, alas, the perfect hope may be mercilessly remembered, unfulfilled throughout the years; or yet again it may be a haunting happiness, gloriously verified. But whatever the dream or its outcome, the mother's soul has given its best, and whether the dream substance was paltry, ambitious or worldly, or whether it was a glory with "the light that never was on land nor sea," it was her highest ideal for her unborn child, the best she knew. And thus it is that the helpers of mankind have ever been heralded by a mother's dream, visions so superlatively resplendent that they are remembered and held. And every ray of comfort to be drawn from dreams or from any other source, has been sorely needed by these same dreaming mothers of the high and holy onesfor the life path of an avatar is ever rough and fraught with pain.

The dust of ages has gathered over many of these dreamings, leaving blurred, legendary outlines, even as the corrosion of time has erased the teachings of the masters themselves, yet the dim vibrations linger for those who seek.

To Sir Edwin Arnold we of the West owe the story of the "Light of Asia."

The Scripture of the Saviour of the World,

Lord Buddha, Prince Siddartha, styled on earth,

All honoured, wisest, best most pitiful;

The Teacher of Nirvana and the Law.
Thus came he to be born again for men.

That night the wife of King Suddhodana,

Maya, the Queen, asleep beside her Lord,

Dreamed a strange dream: dreamed that a star from heaven,

Splendid, six-rayed, in colour rosy pearl,

Whereof the token was the Elephant

Six-tusked and whiter than Vahuka's milk,

Shot through the void and, shining into her,

Entered her womb upon the right. Awaked
Bliss beyond mortal mother's filled her breast,
And over half the earth a lovely light
For went the morn.

And when the morning dawned and this was told,
The gray dream-readers said "The dream is good!"
The Crab is in conjunction with the Sun:
The Queen shall bear a boy, a holy child
Of wondrous wisdom, profiting all flesh,
Who shall deliver men from ignorance,
Or rule the world, if he will deign to rule."

The Mahabharata relates the dream of Devaki, the mother of Krishna. Seated under the tree of life, the banyan, she heard the predictions of the priests for the child to whom she would give birth and with whom her dreams were filled, until night and day she heard holy music and the sounds of divine harps, while the skies were rent with flashes of light.

The dream of Daghchi, the mother of Zoroaster, the founder of Zoroastrianism, the faith of the Parsees of India and of Persia, is found in the Zartusht-Namah, or the life of Zoroaster.

DREAM OF THE MOTHER OF ZARTUSHT

"She dreamed, she wondering marked in heaven's clear skies A cloud like to an eagle's pinions rise,

So thick a gloom its shadows spread.

The sun is veiled, the day grows dark and dread;
And from that cloud no rain, but strange to tell

Lions, tigers, wolves and dragons fell;
The crocodile, the panther of the waste;
All that is horrible, misshapen, vast;
The writhing serpent and the bird obscene
All things detested that the eye has seen,

Or fancy figured; and still with gathering storm
Fast falls each savage shape and grisly form;
Sudden from forth that phantom train appears
One who than all a ghastlier semblance bears;
On Daghchi rushing, in her tender side

The direful monster tore an opening wide,
And thence the infant Zartusht in his grasp

Dragged forth to light. Death seemed in every clasp,
But on their prey ere yet those jaws could close,
Loud threatening shouts, as those of men arose;
And in that hour of seething misery

While helpless Daghchi strove for aid to cry—
'Wail not,' her infant said, 'for not from these
Shall harm approach me or destruction seize,
God is my guardian and protection. He
From every evil thing shall keep me free;

Then dread not, though you view assembled here
These monsters grim and loathsome forms of fear!'
Cheered with these words the mother calms her care
When lo, a hill descends from upper air,

And from its side beams forth refulgent light
Dispels the clouds and breaks the gloom of night.”

At length an angel appears to the young mother, apparently for the purpose of explaining fully the wonder of the child to whom she had been privileged to give an earthly birth.

"Arise nor let thy heart grow faint with dread.
Comfort thee, for from thee a child shall spring
On whom shall rest the favour of heaven's king
The world beholds the glad event with joy,
And future ages hail the promised boy;
To a lost world the mysteries of grace
Glad earth rejoices at his coming feet,
The wolf and lamb in peace and union meet."

Softly along the path already trod by these sumptuous Oriental favorites comes the simple maid of Galilee. Apart from the colorful symbolism and the exuberance of eastern fancies in verse and rhyme, is the bare description of the conception of the Christ. There are no wolves nor falling stars, only the serenity of a wistful, wondering maid, upheld by a power beyond her comprehension. There were no soothsayers nor royal prophets to proclaim her dreams as triumphs and to forecast the immortality of her son. To the eastern woman the birth of a man-child has ever been in itself a sacred and wonderful achievement, and when glorious auguries, whether of the flesh or of the spirit, are forecast for that son, the cup of maternal happiness is brimming. To the Virgin of Nazareth, however, there could be no earthly triumph; the ecstatic vision of her destiny must lie in her soul, locked by the very lowliness that was to make her immortal. It was a marvelous, untranslatable strength that soothed her into serenity under Joseph's suspicion; her childishness and innocence enabled her to grasp its glory where a more sophisticated soul must have shrunk back afraid. Whether a dream or a vision or a tangible reality the angel who hailed her as "blessed among women" was vivid and sentient to her soul, but to Joseph, pondering upon his just course, it brought no message. His own vision must come. Meanwhile, to the mother the dream was all and she awaited the world verdict, unafraid. Outwardly her peril was great, for the divine light, glory, angel or whatever the mystery that had spoken to her dream, was seen to her eyes alone, not to those of her little world.

The sparseness of description in the New Testament carries conviction, and from its meager outline the imagination follows the ecstasy and agony of that inexperienced, wondering life, palpitating on the brink of the Event of All Ages.

In a book called the "Gospel of Mary," purported to have been written by James, the son of Joseph, we find a description of the Virgin's life and of her surroundings. The churches of the orient have never questioned its authenticity