The unconscious life of the mind

Hos flere og flere Folk, der lever et anstrængt Tankeliv, og dertil er ømtaalige af Gemyt, opstaar der ofte sjælelige Virksomheder af det underligste Slags. Det kan være aldeles uforklarlige Sandsetilstande: en stum, aarsagsløs Henrykkelse; et Pust af psykisk Smærte; en Fornemmelse af at blive talt til fra det fjærne, fra Luften, fra Havet; en grusom, fin Lydhørhed, der bringer én til at lide endog af Suset fra anede Atomer; en pludselig, unaturlig Stirren ind i lukkede Riger, der slaaes op; Anelsen af en forestaaende Fare midt i en sorgløs Stund (...) De er ofte for flygtige til at gribes og holdes fast, de varer et Sekund, et Minut, de kommer og gaar som farende Blinklys; men de har trykket et Mærke, afsat en Fornemmelse, før de forsvandt. (...) de hemmelige Bevægelser, som bedrives upaaagtet paa de afsides Steder i Sjælen, den Fornemmelsernes uberegnelige Uorden, det delikate Fantasiliv lioldt under Luppen, disse Tankens og Følelsens Vandringer i det blaa, skridtløse, sporløse Rejser med Hjærnen og Hjærtet, sælsomme Nervevirksomheder, Blodets Hvisken, Benpibernes Bøn, hele det ubevidste Sjæleliv. 

Knut Hamsun, 'Fra det ubevidste Sjæleliv' ('From the unconscious life of the mind'),  

Samtiden. Populært tidsskrift for litteratur og samfundsspörgsmaal, John Griegs forlag, Bergen, 1890

Now that more and more people live a strained mental life, and are therefore of fragile disposition, there often occurs psychical activity of the strangest kind. This can be an utterly inexplicable condition of the senses: a mute, causeless rapture; a waft of mental pain; a sense of being spoken to from a distance, from the air, from the sea; an excruciatingly fine sensitivity, which drives you to the point of suffering even from the whisper of dimly perceived atoms; sudden, unnatural glimpses into closed realms that open up; the hint of imminent danger in the midst of a carefree moment (...) They are often too fleeting to be grasped and held fast, they last a second, a minute, they come and go like racing, blinking lights; but they have imprinted their mark, laid down some kind of sensation before they vanish. (...) secret stirrings, which go unnoticed in the remote places of the mind, the incalculable turmoil of impressions, the delicate life of the imagination viewed through a magnifying glass, these random wanderings of the thoughts and feelings, untrodden, trackless journeys of brain and heart, strange workings of the nerves, the whisper of  blood, the beseeching of bone, all the unconscious life of the mind.

See also Le rêve éveillé