Like a morning dream, life becomes more and more bright the

In the quiet voice of eternity, Jean Paul, the poet of the soul’s twilight, once wrote: “Like a morning dream, life becomes more and more bright the longer we live, and the reason of everything appears more clear. What has puzzled us before seems less mysterious, and the crooked paths look straighter as we approach the end.” His words shimmer like the first light of dawn, rising over the long night of human confusion. In them lies the wisdom of age, the serenity of understanding, and the revelation that life’s meaning unfolds slowly, like a flower opening to the sun.

When we are young, the world is a labyrinth — its passages uncertain, its meanings veiled. We stumble through shadows, chasing desires, fearing loss, and questioning why the fates turn as they do. But as years pass, experience becomes our teacher. What once seemed cruel or senseless reveals a quiet order beneath. Jean Paul saw that, like a dream that begins in confusion and ends in light, life itself clarifies as we near its end. The chaos we once cursed becomes a tapestry of purpose, and the crooked roads — those detours of heartbreak and error — are seen as the very paths that shaped our souls.

This truth has been known to the wise of all ages. Socrates, at the hour of his death, spoke calmly of the unknown, saying that philosophy is nothing but preparation for dying — for only in the nearness of death does the spirit see clearly. As a man walks through mist toward the rising sun, the fog thins until all things stand revealed. So too does understanding ripen with time. The morning dream that once confused us becomes radiant; what was dark becomes gold. The elders who smile at youth’s impatience do so not in mockery, but in compassion — for they know that what is hidden will one day be plain.

The story of Nelson Mandela bears witness to this wisdom. Imprisoned for decades, stripped of freedom and hope, he might have seen only cruelty in the world. Yet when the long years passed, and he emerged into the light of reconciliation, he understood what his suffering had shaped — a vision of unity, of forgiveness, of strength tempered by patience. The path that seemed “crooked” led not to ruin but to greatness. His life’s morning dream became, in its later hours, a vision of harmony and peace. From confusion grew clarity; from sorrow, wisdom.

Jean Paul’s insight carries the weight of both faith and philosophy. He does not promise that life is easy or that every pain finds an explanation, but that understanding grows with endurance. The child asks, “Why?” in wonder; the adult asks it in frustration; the elder answers it in peace. To live long enough, and deeply enough, is to see that existence itself — though tangled with loss and mystery — is guided by unseen laws of balance. The river’s bends, when viewed from the mountain’s height, reveal their purpose: to carve beauty into the land.

So what lesson, then, should the listener draw from this? It is to trust the unfolding of time. When you stand amid confusion, when the world seems unjust or meaningless, remember that the vision of life is incomplete. What now feels crooked may be leading you toward the straight road. Do not curse the fog; walk through it. The light comes not to those who demand it, but to those who keep walking until it dawns. Every trial, every unanswered question, becomes part of the wisdom that will one day steady your hand and quiet your heart.

Therefore, live as a student of your own days. Seek not instant clarity, but patient insight. Listen to the murmur of your experience, and honor the lessons hidden within both joy and grief. And when the evening of your life draws near, you may find yourself, as Jean Paul described, at peace — the puzzle complete, the shadows explained, and the once mysterious world revealed in its luminous design. For the dream of life, when lived deeply, does not fade at the end. It becomes morning — the soul awakening at last to the brightness it has been seeking all along.