High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Dream’

Except in rare moments, we, who count our lifespans in mere decades, tend to forget that our vision is short-sighted and focused narrowly on the inconsequential, quickly fading moments of our days.

Tossed by the tides of our concepts and emotions, we get caught up by the he-said, she-said, and the us and them dramas and lose sight of that which is, beyond our stories.  No wonder we despair.

But we are luckier than we remember.  The dream that we inhabit is larger than our own, and truer.  And now and then it signals us.  It paints the world with a certain slant of light, or stretches a rainbow across our skies.  And something in our souls responds, leaping with joy.

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The dark days are upon us.  Soon the earth will freeze and the air will be filled with crystalline snow, burying the last of the fallen golden leaves, erasing all color.

The trees will stand bare in the cold, devoid of songbirds, their branches crackling in the wind.

Some would ask how we could go forth now, into the bleakness.  What kind of life will we have in such a hostile world?

We wrap their limited vision in compassion.

We, you see, believe in adventure.  We believe the darkness grants us opportunity to spin great dreams and to ready ourselves for living them when the warmth returns.

We, the children of autumn, go forth boldly, confident in who we are, and fully trusting tomorrow.

What if, with the snap of a finger, you believed your best dream could come true?

What if all your inhibitions fell away, and fear turned to laughter?

What if you actually seized the vision and the day and ran full out with them?

Oh, the hills you could climb!  Oh, the colors you could use to paint the world!

Here!  Take it!  Own it!  Be it!  It’s all for you, you know.  All for you.

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We tossed our hopes into the sky and they gathered there in whipped cream clouds.

And even though they blocked the sun, dimming the goldenrod’s glow as they sailed past, we rejoiced. Hope outshines darkness every time.

We stood there, watching them race across the limitless sky in billowing heaps, towering like mountains above the trees, catching one another, merging into one pewter dream that stretched from horizon to horizon and sang with wind.

We took it as a confirmation and walked home, Yes falling around us like rain.

It seems, somehow, as if it were all but a dream, the long sunlit days stretching languidly across the hours, the bees and butterflies darting from blossom to blossom in the fields, the fireflies of July.

Summer goes all too quickly, a fleeting rush of fragrance and color, a warm and passionate embrace, and then she’s gone.

Nevertheless, she leaves her indelible trace.  Beauty such as hers is kept in memory forever and is, perhaps, what memory is for.  It wasn’t meant, I think, to hold the pricks and stings, the injuries and sorrows, to give them more substance than they’re due.  No, memory was given us as a storehouse for the lovely and the good, that beauty might endure within us even when the days grow cold.

As she pulled her cocoon around her, the tiny caterpillar had no idea what to expect.   She only knew that she had climbed a thousand stems and feasted on countless green, juicy leaves, and that she was quite ready for a long, unbroken sleep.

Last night, as she lay curled beneath the forest of towering grasses waiting for the dawn, a magnificent winged being appeared in her dreams and, in a voice more beautiful than any she had ever heard, told her it was time to prepare for her transformation.

Her cocoon was soft and welcoming and soon she drifted off into a sea of shifting colors and sweet sounds.

When at last she woke, she discovered that she was in a wholly different body than the one she wore before.  It felt strong, and it longed for sunlight and freedom.  And it was hungry, too.   She moved her new legs and pushed her way through a crack in the wall of her cocoon.

At first, she was dazed by the light.  It was far brighter than she remembered and filled with dancing colors.  She struggled to balance herself as she lifted her last foot from the cocoon, eager to see more.  But she could barely move.  A layer of wet, golden fabric of some sort was attached to her back and weighing her down.  She would, she decided, rest for a bit and get her bearings.

The morning sun felt warm and welcoming, and she gazed in wonder at the glistening world into which she had emerged.  Slowly the moisture dried from the fixtures on her back, and she discovered to her amazement that they were, in fact, wings.   She felt her life force pumping into them, spreading them wide.  And when she followed the urge to move them, she suddenly found herself airborne and flitting above the jeweled sea below her.

She somersaulted in the morning air, darting among the goldenrod and grasses, rising higher and higher, then darting down into the billowing ocean of grains and buds below.

Finally, after she had flown for several minutes, a spot of purple caught her eye.  “Why, that must be breakfast!” she said, feeling drawn to its royal hues.   And as she alighted on its feathery petals, she saw its pools of sweet nectar gleaming in the sun.

She hardly knew which was more beautiful, the taste of the nectar or the ornate design of the flower’s buds.  She only knew that this jeweled new world was heaven and that she was exceedingly blessed.

This dream could go up in smoke at any time, and all that we deemed solid float away.

Life’s a crap shoot, you know–a game of chance, where you put down your marker and let the dice roll.

Sometimes you win.  Sometimes nobody does.  It’s the uncertainty that gives the game its juice.  It’s how we find out what we’re made of.

You weren’t expecting otherwise, were you?  Even fairy tales have their dragons after all.

In the end, it really is about how you played the game:  How you took your lumps.  What you learned. Whether you figured out how to have a good time, no matter what, and to be glad just because you were playing.

Yeah, it could all go up in smoke.  The game could fold at any time.

But still there would be love, and still there would be you and me, win or lose.

Containing all possibilities, every nuance, and every permutation of them, the largeness of the Great Mind stretches farther than the sky.

Even the impossibilities are held within it.  Even lawlessness conforms to its order.

All we can imagine and all the things we cannot begin to dream play within its realms.

You and I are within it, and were, even before our beginnings.  And it is within us, and soars beyond our imagined boundaries, pulling us forever deeper into the timeless, endless space where all is unity and love.

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Here, in the center of this calm, a scent rises, a leaf falls.  The waters of time are sailing into tomorrow.

Soon this day will be but a dream, its emerald turned to gold, its stillness become a rush of wind and wings.

But now, tomorrow is the dream.  Now the sleepy afternoons still linger and the willows sway beside the pond.  I let its cool waters buoy me.  Its colors feed my soul.

When night falls, the elders, having sensed the subtle shift in things, will search the sky for signs. Then they will sleep beneath a now of stars and moonlight and the waters of time will sail on.

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It’s too hot to sleep; we may as well dance.  In Australia the winter snow is falling and summer is only a dream.

So let us tango while we still may.  Soon we shall be dreaming as well.

Now, while the buzz of the insects and the call of crows fill the afternoon air, in the haze of the day and the blaze of the sun, let us dance.

Let us shake the earth and wake the rain and thunder with our passion and our grace.

While the green still wraps around us, let us tango.  Let us dance.