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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 1/210
Interstellar wanderer
All
my
life
I
have
had
an
awareness
of
other
times
and
places
.
I
have
been
aware
of
other
persons
in
me
.
--
Oh
,
and
trust
me
,
so
have
you
,
my
reader
that
is
to
be
.
Read
back
into
your
childhood
,
and
this
sense
of
awareness
I
speak
of
will
be
remembered
as
an
experience
of
your
childhood
.
You
were
then
not
fixed
,
not
crystallized
.
You
were
plastic
,
a
soul
in
flux
,
a
consciousness
and
an
identity
in
the
process
of
forming
--
ay
,
of
forming
and
forgetting
.
You
have
forgotten
much
,
my
reader
,
and
yet
,
as
you
read
these
lines
,
you
remember
dimly
the
hazy
vistas
of
other
times
and
places
into
which
your
child
eyes
peered
.
They
seem
dreams
to
you
to-day
.
Yet
,
if
they
were
dreams
,
dreamed
then
,
whence
the
substance
of
them
?
Our
dreams
are
grotesquely
compounded
of
the
things
we
know
.
The
stuff
of
our
sheerest
dreams
is
the
stuff
of
our
experience
.
As
a
child
,
a
wee
child
,
you
dreamed
you
fell
great
heights
;
you
dreamed
you
flew
through
the
air
as
things
of
the
air
fly
;
you
were
vexed
by
crawling
spiders
and
many-legged
creatures
of
the
slime
;
you
heard
other
voices
,
saw
other
faces
nightmarishly
familiar
,
and
gazed
upon
sunrises
and
sunsets
other
than
you
know
now
,
looking
back
,
you
ever
looked
upon
.
Very
well
.
These
child
glimpses
are
of
other-worldness
,
of
other-lifeness
,
of
things
that
you
had
never
seen
in
this
particular
world
of
your
particular
life
.
Then
whence
?
Other
lives
?
Other
worlds
?
Perhaps
,
when
you
have
read
all
that
I
shall
write
,
you
will
have
received
answers
to
the
perplexities
I
have
propounded
to
you
,
and
that
you
yourself
,
ere
you
came
to
read
me
,
propounded
to
yourself
.
*
*
*
*
*
Wordsworth
knew
.
He
was
neither
seer
nor
prophet
,
but
just
ordinary
man
like
you
or
any
man
.
What
he
knew
,
you
know
,
any
man
knows
.
But
he
most
aptly
stated
it
in
his
passage
that
begins
"
Not
in
utter
nakedness
,
not
in
entire
forgetfulness
...
"
Ah
,
truly
,
shades
of
the
prison-house
close
about
us
,
the
new-born
things
,
and
all
too
soon
do
we
forget
.
And
yet
,
when
we
were
new-born
we
did
remember
other
times
and
places
.
We
,
helpless
infants
in
arms
or
creeping
quadruped-like
on
the
floor
,
dreamed
our
dreams
of
air-flight
.
Yes
;
and
we
endured
the
torment
and
torture
of
nightmare
fears
of
dim
and
monstrous
things
.
We
new-born
infants
,
without
experience
,
were
born
with
fear
,
with
memory
of
fear
;
and
memory
is
experience
.
As
for
myself
,
at
the
beginnings
of
my
vocabulary
,
at
so
tender
a
period
that
I
still
made
hunger
noises
and
sleep
noises
,
yet
even
then
did
I
know
that
I
had
been
a
star-rover
.
Yes
,
I
,
whose
lips
had
never
lisped
the
word
"
king
,
"
remembered
that
I
had
once
been
the
son
of
a
king
.
More
--
I
remembered
that
once
I
had
been
a
slave
and
a
son
of
a
slave
,
and
worn
an
iron
collar
round
my
neck
.
Still
more
.
When
I
was
three
,
and
four
,
and
five
years
of
age
,
I
was
not
yet
I.
I
was
a
mere
becoming
,
a
flux
of
spirit
not
yet
cooled
solid
in
the
mould
of
my
particular
flesh
and
time
and
place
.
In
that
period
all
that
I
had
ever
been
in
ten
thousand
lives
before
strove
in
me
,
and
troubled
the
flux
of
me
,
in
the
effort
to
incorporate
itself
in
me
and
become
me
.
Silly
,
is
n't
it
?
But
remember
,
my
reader
,
whom
I
hope
to
have
travel
far
with
me
through
time
and
space
--
remember
,
please
,
my
reader
,
that
I
have
thought
much
on
these
matters
,
that
through
bloody
nights
and
sweats
of
dark
that
lasted
years-long
,
I
have
been
alone
with
my
many
selves
to
consult
and
contemplate
my
many
selves
.
I
have
gone
through
the
hells
of
all
existences
to
bring
you
news
which
you
will
share
with
me
in
a
casual
comfortable
hour
over
my
printed
page
.
