The Queen's Soul Lies Naked - Song from a Dream

by Henri Rousseau

My dreams have always been enticingly rich and evocative. Often it’s as if I’m watching an elaborate film in gorgeous technicolor, exquisitely choreographed. Sometimes I am a character in that film. But often I’m standing outside the action, waiting to see what happens.

When we were sailing my dreams were especially vivid. One morning I woke with a song playing in my mind that I heard in my dream, sung at a gathering of people in some ancient kingdom. It was almost as if they were chanting it, as if they were singing something that had been handed down to them over the ages, something to be sung on special occasions.

I had the feeling that a momentous event was about to take place. A royal wedding? A coronation? A sacred initiation?

Upon waking I wrote down all that I remembered—which is quite unlike anything else I’ve written. But all these years later, I am still mesmerized by its beauty.

Truly, it is not mine, but something I overheard.

Sharing this song with you now seems so timely, having written in my last post here:

When we write, it’s as if we are . . . diving into the unknown, into our innermost intuitions and the half-forgotten memories, dreams, and fantasies . . . . In some ways, we are diving into the collective unconscious—everyone and everything we have ever known or heard of or read about going back to that time and space in reality or imagination where the morning stars first sang together. . . . We do it to ferret out and piece together our own song, a more complete and comprehensive understanding of ourselves, our world, and each other . . ..

Perhaps. But what follows is a song I overheard in a dream, and although I have no idea what it means, it still mesmerizes me.

My Queen’s Soul Lies Naked - Song from A Dream

Five golden rings adorn her toes,
But the Queen’s sole lies naked.

Garlands of lilies lace buttocks to hips,
But between them her belly beckons.

Sashes of satin encircle her waist,
But her legs lie loose and languid.

Sapphires and rubies stream from her neck,
But her breasts are bare as mountains.

Bracelets of silver ring her wrists,
But her arms are free and fervent.

Rivers of ribbon flow through her hair
But her back is a gleaming desert.

Ashes of coal shadow her lids,
But her eyes are two burning candles.

Juice from wild cherries stain her lips,
But her breath is the Khamsin blowing.

Mysteries and marvels flow from her mouth,
But my Queen’s soul lies naked.

I don’t know what the song means, but it reminds me of a favorite nursery rhyme:

With rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes,
She shall make music wherever she goes.

This nursery rhyme has no meaning that I know of either. Nonetheless, its playful images are so enticing.

This dream fragment may be like that. But I sense there’s something deeper going on, which the play on the words sole and soul in the first and last lines calls to mind—a reminder perhaps that for all our attempts to adorn ourselves, our most pleasing and precious parts, our very essence, our souls, perhaps, are best seen naked.

What do you think? Is this a meaningless but pleasing rhyme? Or something deeper?

Rousseau’s Painting The Dream

The featured painting of the lush jungle, wild animals, and mysterious horn was inspired by Rousseau’s visits to the natural history museum and to Jardin des Plantes (a combined zoo and botanical garden) in Paris, according to MoMA, the museum in New York where the painting now resides.

“When I am in these hothouses and see the strange plants from exotic lands, it seems to me that I am entering a dream,” Rousseau once said. “The woman asleep on the couch is dreaming she has been transported into the forest, listening to the sounds from the instrument of the enchanter.”

In its notes, MoMA writes: “The nude woman reclining on a sofa seems to have been lifted from a Paris living room and grafted into this moonlit jungle scene. Her incongruous presence heightens its dreamlike quality and suggests that perhaps the jungle is a projection of her mind, much as it is a projection of Rousseau’s imagination.“

Do you have elaborate, evocative dreams? Has a dream ever inspired your writing or artwork? If so, I’d love to hear about it.