I have discovered a dream. Well, when I say discovered, I don't really mean that. I mean I have finally given something room to breathe. The seed of a dream that has always been inside of me - squashed, ignored, sometimes forgotten, but always present. It is breathing now. Alive. But at what cost? An impossible dream is dangerous. It has the life within it to bring reck and ruin if unfulfilled. And mine is an impossible dream.
To give life to such a thing opens one up.
To the beauty and perfect happiness of attainment.
To the crushing and deadening blow of failure.
So now I allow the dream to become my dream. What will become of me?
Was my dream better left a seed?
I want so desperately to draw from C.S. Lewis' words on love in my circumstance...
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”
I need to be vulnerable. To allow my dream to love me or to despise me. For life without the dream is a half life. A life untrue to my human heart, and so lived in longing - for a life which has become distant and out of reach. I don't want to never try. To watch the shadows of a dream which could have been drift away and out of grasp, leaving me drowning in regret...
Let the pain come. Or the joy. I will dream and live and feel and grow.
I would not have it otherwise.
