High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Dreams’

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In the face of all this loveliness–the soft air, the gentle sky, the lilting songs of the morning birds—I am filled with more gratitude than my heart can bear.

What can I do, but give you all that I am?

Here: Take my secrets, my longings, my dreams.   Take my moisture, my colors, my scent, my form.

Your breath brushes across my petals, and my soul takes flight in joy.

(For Sheri)

The snow had hardly melted when the dandelions appeared, breathing in the sun’s dreams, storing the gold of them in their soft petals.

Deep within themselves, the dandelions distilled the sun dreams, refining them until they yielded the essence of life itself, with all its potential and hope and power.

Then, when night fell, the dandelions breathed in the dreams of the moon and of the stars and distilled those, too.  And they mixed their essence  with the essence of the sun dreams and began to spin the blend, whirling it with great engines of joy, until perfect, translucent threads formed.

Finally, with the secret magic that only dandelions know, they fashioned the threads into wish kites for the children of the earth.

And that is why, when you send the kites sailing, blown on your breath and filled with heart hope of your own, it is quite certain that your wishes will come true.

These blossoms are kisses, sent from the Great Yes to fill your spirit with joy.  They were eons in the making, and traveled all the way from forever just to appear on this day.

Their centers reflect the seeds of your golden possibilities; their fragrance is the perfume of your dreams.  Their form suggests the star that you are.

So shine on, my child, and know that you are seen and loved.  Today the Great Yes sends you kisses shaped like blossoms to fill your heart with joy.

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From the green cathedral’s pinnacle, the daffodils rise.  Their message is clear.  It speaks in every language, to every heart.  It needs no words.

Just gaze at one.  It will change you.

Touch their golden petals with your finger, and all your highest dreams will suddenly be true.

Within them, earth and sky sing as one, giving birth to the sun, fulfilling every promise, every hope, surpassing them.

Here are miracles, growing in the grass.

Let there be joy!

This is the moment for which she came, the one that had danced in her dreams, the dreams that had pulled her through.

This was the reason that she had endured the darkness, the long wait, the silence.  This was why she had held on through the freezing rain, through onslaught of late winter snow.

This moment.

Now, here, on a mid-March morning, she opened her perfect self to sun, to the warmth of the song-filled air.  And all her dreams were fulfilled.  And gladness rushed through her veins and burst forth in thanksgiving and joy.

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There was a method to her madness, to March’s mix of sunshine and snow, her wild winds and balmy days of calm.  Everything has its purpose after all, whether we see it or not.

March had to wake her children from their slumbers, but not so quickly that they birthed too soon.  So she lifted them just to spring’s threshold, and then lowered them back into dreams.

And oh, how they dreamed as she rocked them, practicing how it would be!  Hooves, wings, pollen, petals, beaks and fins swam through their rainbow worlds.

And all the while, they stretched and grew, their cells dividing, their parts taking on finer form.

And March danced on, with loving inconsistency.

Ah!  It’s the harbingers of hope, burst through to the light, ready to unfurl their flags.  Here is spring’s first guard, singing its joy in the rain.

Flower dreams swirl in my head: the blossoms are waking!

It just goes to show you that even the gentle can be brave.  Even the most delicate can persevere through the darkness.  Holding firmly to their dreams, trusting the song of their souls, they endured the trials, bearing them with patience and faith.

That’s all it takes.  And in the end, they break through, gloriously unfolding, their beauty delighting us all.

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Light seeps into the dreams now, visions of things to come dancing with sleep’s images.   It’s all a mix.

It won’t be long.  The season of birth is right around time’s bend.

The creek waits and listens for the doe with her new fawn, for the appearance of duck eggs in new nests, for the song of the peepers.

It won’t be long.  But now the woods and waters still dream of sparkling snow and sheets of ice.

Nevertheless, the light seeps in, and here on the edge of waking, all the gestating creatures are stirring in the darkness.

Spring’s start is still five weeks away, but the trees are beginning to whisper about its arrival.  Already, they feel the slow rise of sap within them and the almost imperceptible swelling of their buds.

They’re no stranger to the tricks that February and March can play.  Tomorrow snow might fill the fields again and heap itself on their branches.  But April is inevitable and they’re beginning to prepare.

Leaves don’t emerge full blown.  First the emerald dreams must be dreamed and the dreams of awakening soil.  And now the trees are remembering the spells and whispering incantations.

When you walk among them, you can feel their ancient wisdom.  They read the light; they know the signs.

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From distant shores, dreams beckon, islands of hope, half hidden by the mists of future time.

Their siren call echoes through our sleep and roots itself in our bones.  “Come,” they sing, “Come.”

When we wake, they drift up in unnamed desires, pulling at our wanting for something, oh, larger somehow, and deeper.

And sometimes, when our thoughts are at ease and our hearts are open, we catch a glimpse of their towering possibilities and they startle us with their light.

Some shrink back at moments like these, feeling themselves made small by the grandeur.  But the bold, oh the beautiful bold, leap up, shouting, Eureka!” and set sail.