Status Updates From SWANN'S WAY: Remembrance Of...

So, in that moment, all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann’s park, and the water lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and of its surroundings, taking their proper shapes and growing solid, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.
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There is the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, until the day when we happen to pass by the tree or animal. Then they start and tremble, they call us by our name, and as soon as we have recognized their voice, the spell is broken.
Delivered by us, they have overcome death and return to share our life.

It was enough if, in my own bed, my sleep was deep and relaxed; for then I lost all sense of the place in which I had gone to sleep, and when I awoke at midnight, not knowing where I was, I could not be sure at first who I was; I had only the most rudimentary sense of existence, such as may lurk and flicker in the depths of an animal's consciousness; I was more destitute of human qualities than the cave-dweller.

It’s time …….