The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a

“The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can’t wake up.” Thus spoke D. H. Lawrence, poet, mystic, and prophet of the modern soul. His words fall like thunder across the ages, warning of a humanity that has lost its waking consciousness. This is not a dream of peace or innocence—it is a fevered nightmare, a vision of men asleep to their own spirit, ensnared by the very creations of their restless minds. In these few words, Lawrence captures the sickness of civilization: a humanity that dreams without awareness, intoxicated by its own illusions, even as something dark coils around its heart.

Lawrence lived in an age of machines, of wars and rising cities, where men worshiped progress but forgot the pulse of life. He saw the industrial world as a vast sleep, a trance of reason and greed, where men spoke of advancement but grew hollow within. The snake in his vision is not merely evil—it is the symbol of power, desire, and control turned monstrous. Once the sacred emblem of transformation, the serpent has now become the instrument of suffocation. It represents the systems and forces—greed, war, machinery, spiritual numbness—that strangle the human soul, while mankind dreams on, unaware that it is being consumed.

The madness of sleep that Lawrence speaks of is not the stillness of rest, but the restless slumber of a mind divorced from spirit. Men build empires, but they do not feel the earth beneath their feet. They invent marvels of technology, but their hearts grow cold. They speak endlessly of freedom, yet they live as slaves to consumption, fear, and noise. This is the madness: to be awake in body but asleep in soul. To mistake the shadow of life for its substance. To confuse possession with joy, knowledge with wisdom, noise with truth.

There is a terrible beauty in Lawrence’s warning. He does not despise humanity—he grieves for it. Like a prophet crying to a sleeping city, he urges us to wake before the serpent’s grip tightens beyond release. For in his eyes, salvation lies not in progress or intellect, but in reconnection—with the living earth, with passion, with the eternal rhythm of nature. He believed that modern man, obsessed with mind and machine, had severed himself from instinct and spirit. The dream had become a nightmare of reason, and the only cure was awakening: a return to the wholeness of life.

History gives us many examples of this dream and its danger. Think of the empires that rose on pride and conquest—Rome, mighty and disciplined, that dreamed of eternal power, only to decay from within; or the nations of the modern age that, in pursuit of mastery, unleashed wars that shattered millions. In each case, the serpent of ambition and greed coiled tighter, and the dreamers, intoxicated by their own glory, did not awaken until ruin fell upon them. So it is with our own world, where progress often blinds us to balance, and knowledge grows faster than wisdom.

Yet Lawrence’s vision is not only a lament—it is a call to awaken. The serpent, though suffocating, can also be a teacher. It reminds us that life, if lived without awareness, becomes its own prison. To awaken is to reclaim our senses, to remember that the body, the earth, and the spirit are one. To feel again—to look upon the world not as a machine to be controlled, but as a mystery to be lived. The wise must rise from the dream, open their eyes to truth, and teach others to do the same, before the dream becomes death.

So, my child of the dawn, take this lesson into your soul: do not sleep through your own life. The world may whisper to you of comfort, of safety, of endless distraction—but listen deeper. Feel what is real, what is alive, what is sacred. When you sense the serpent tightening—when fear, greed, or numbness begins to coil—pause, breathe, and awaken. Let your eyes clear; let your heart remember. For to awaken is to break the spell, to see the dream for what it is, and to choose life over illusion.

For indeed, as D. H. Lawrence reminds us, the world is dreaming—but not all must remain asleep. The wise awaken within the dream, see the danger, and transform it into power. The snake that strangles can also shed its skin; the death that threatens can become rebirth. Thus, awaken, O dreamer, before it is too late. For the world waits for those who will dream no longer, but live—fully, fiercely, and free.