High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Dreams’

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So the year’s first child leaves us, her last sun pouring down its golden rays in benediction on all our bright dreams.

Tomorrow the next one will come toddling in, brand new, its arms gift-laden.

Their visits are so brief and fleeting.  And each gives us its all–seconds, minutes, hours, days–to do with as we please, to make whatever choices we will, as they unfold their weather and usher along the seasons.

Oh, January!  How we heralded your birth!  You, the bringer of fresh hopes and renewed aspirations.

Forgive us for how quickly we forget them, and know that your life force will stir them again and again as your siblings come with new chances.

For all the beauty and dreams you brought us, our thanks.  Farewell, beautiful January.  Farewell.

The earth dreams her winter dreams, full of possibilities:  Corn, wheat, earthworms, clover, grazing cows and butterflies.

So deep is her sleep that she appears lifeless, her spacious curves lying there, unmoving, under the broad sky.  But beneath the thin blankets of last year’s crops and grasses, she calls the tomorrows into form.

Birds’ nests dance inside her, and baby rabbits in their burrows.  She dreams the ants coming forth and the dandelions, the tadpoles, the snakes and the fishes.

And through it all, the song of the Great Yes weaves in melodious ribbons and blesses her, and she sighs at the sweetness of it all and sleeps.

“Ice,” said the voice in my head as I glanced at the puddle.  “Tea,” it said, noticing how the sticks intersected.  I laughed out loud.

The labels go on and on and on, from the moment we learn the words.  I suppose it keeps us anchored in the world somehow.

Then the words trigger memories and dreams.  So although it is late January and I am standing in freezing rain, in my mind I am gazing at fields of tall, green corn on a hot, windless day in mid-July, and it is not rain but perspiration running down my cheeks, and I hear the tinkle of ice cubes in a tall glass of tea and smell lemon.

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!  ~Goethe

The New Year begins!  Both the curtain and the bar are raised.  And we come leaping into this gift of new hours, fresh dreams in hand, full of hope and daring.

Let our faith be firm.  Let us bring to this New Year the best in us: Hearts brave enough to be vulnerable, lips willing to speak our truth, hands eager to reach out in kindness, souls ready to serve.

Let us be alert for goodness and beauty and find them in every hour.  Let us fly our dreams like flags before us.  Let us reach for the stars and climb whatever mountains may appear.  Let us not take no for an answer, but cling instead to our passion for the endless possibilities.

And may the Illimitable Yes that is Love and Peace and Joy sing its song through us all our days and fill us with its grace.

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The sun’s birthday is behind us;
the New Year’s yet to come.
Take a little winter nap,
and dream sweet dreams, my son.

Ahead are grand adventures,
bright sun and sparkling snow.
But all things move in cycles,
and now’s the time for slow.

Let your breath flow softly;
close your lovely eyes.
Let your sweet dreams sail like clouds
across the winter skies.

Wrap yourself in comfort,
be warm and filled with peace.
You are safe and cared for;
my watching shall not cease.

Sleep like fallen leaves
on the bosom of the earth.
Then wake refreshed and rested,
and greet the hours with mirth.

The majesty of the Yes flows forth, unrolling the heavens, spangling them with sparkling joy.   It sweeps the face of space and galaxy after galaxy appears, shimmering with its light.  Worlds tumble into being. Layer after layer it fills the void with unfathomable dreams.  It laughs and mankind appears and starfish and flowers, and its love enfolds every species and all their members in its tenderness forever.

The Yes is flowing forth, and heavens and nature sing.  On this day, on this planet, all of nature sings.

Despite the long darkness, sometimes there comes an irrepressible joy.

Bounding over the hills, it leaps and flies, sprinkling the earth with bright bits of cheer, with dollops of spicy gladness.

It runs across the feet of babies and they giggle and grin.   It climbs tall branches and they burst forth in berries.

It skips across ponds and its bubbles wake the fishes.  It blows through the bedsheets leaving Technicolor dreams.

It makes carousels sing and rings bells and wags the tails of dogs. And sooner or later, it’s going to find you, too.  There’s no escaping it.  Just give in.

In the outer world, November’s work was all about turning down the light, fading out the color, snugly tucking things in for winter’s long night.  And she went about it deftly, humming soft lullabies to all the seeds and creatures as she made her preparations.

“Dream sweetly,” she crooned to them.  “Dream of all you have experienced in the year’s bright seasons.  Dream of all that you’ve done, with such laughter and joy.  Dream of how you came to be here and why, and of all you will create and accomplish when you wake.”

Their dreams, she knew, would be like all dreams.  Some would be clear and vivid.  Some would be fragments that seemed to make no sense at all.  Some would drift past as filmy as morning mists.  It didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter whether they were clear or understood or remembered.  They would leave their messages behind regardless.

Deep within them, they would hold the mysteries and revelations of the Great Dreamer who caused it all be.  And the Yes would sing through them and into the tomorrows to come, shaping them, with all its hope and power and grace.  And while they were lost in the dreamsongs, all the seeds and creatures would be comforted, knowing they were known, and connected, and loved.

The nights come early now and we creatures burrow in our caves, wrapped in flickering fire light.  The shadows dance on the wall and supper cooks, its fragrances winding around us like smoke.

In the corner, the children play their games, laughing, and when we eat, they bring the tales of their days with them and we tell ours and the stories push away the darkness.

Then there is only the sound of sleeping.  The fire fades. The velvet darkness returns.  And we drift back to the golden days and float down the river of dreams, remembering what was.

Rising from sleep’s gossamer layers, we flow into the day, the night’s riches and rubble tumbling in a shadow play against the waking light.

Shall we hold those fading images?  Coax them to spill their secrets? Wring them of their worth?

I’m told that’s what the wise ones do and become the wiser for it.

Or shall we just trade them for the brightening thoughts that are tugging us into the day and go on, as if nothing of consequence had happened?