Lightning struck my dreams like a thread of angst. I could see it in the clouds: a storm was breaking in me. To hide or to run?
At night, my mind has always painted the most vivid portraits; impressions of a thousand realities. They are the canvases of my fears, hopes and maybes…the stories I can hardly bear to tell. I’ve seen giants on the moon and Arabian princes; ghosts from the past and reminders for the future. I’ve seen impossible wanderings and daring flights through shadowed lands. I’ve climbed beneath a world of oppressive tables and circles…where ordinary life is a maze of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ proportions. Each morning I wonder: will I wake from these dreams and find myself? Will I be lost? They cause me to greet the sun with heavy eyes; unable to process what the night wove within me. Speech fails in the daylight of these memories; words come far too easy.
This grand display of life’s footage has been my struggle since childhood. I was born with dreams, the sparks of time and hidden worlds, and with a mind that absorbs absolutely everything – the best and the worst. I am learning to accept the lessons. They teach me of my own pain, of worlds and things I do not understand and of the depths of possibility. They teach me that darkness cannot last forever, that stories are meant to have endings and that we can be better than the worst in us.
If you’re out there today and you’re overwhelmed by the intangibles, the concretes, the unspoken-about-things:
I can see the light shining through.