Often, held captive by the prison of our minds, by all the things that might not work, we stop dreaming about change. Those prison walls thicken as we age. By now, we’ve been disillusioned one too many times. Let’s face it, it’s painful to dream dreams that never come true. The cell inside which we are sequestered becomes grimy and dull. Pessimism encroaches on the fertile creative source of life that dreaming has to offer. And so, we keep going along with our routine, like trapped within a hamster wheel. We know something else is out there, but prefer denying that stepping off the wheel will result in goodness. It’s easier that way. It’s easier not to think about the risks involved if those dreams became true.
Today, Tall Mountain and I allowed ourselves to dream once again. We were once very good at that discipline. We had more time for it. We weren’t as distracted and all those other excuses that somehow justify the fact that I too, have ceased dreaming. We don’t know the hows, the whens, the with whoms and all those other things that would make a dream a plan. But the freedom to dream together was life-giving. Unifying. Liberating.
A perfect end to our Bastille Day weekend.