Sunday, November 6, 2011

oh heartbeat, sustain the weight of Atlas' globe

What are your dreams?

And sometimes, the Dreams overwhelmed her. They filled her soul and bubbled over, tumbling and turning tumultuously, churning the fabric of her heart. They crested and broke like a thousand waves on the whitest sands. The Dreams ran ahead of her, darting through sun-streaked gardens of trees like elusive stags, always just out of reach, always just beyond her grasp. She followed until she was out of breath from running and laughing, until her song sucked all the air from her lungs. More would come, more would come, she knew. Inevitably, they did. Like violets, they sprung up at her feet without her noticing. They rushed into her arms when she least expected it. Dreams chased her down, and dogged her steps, and sewed themselves to the footprints of her shadow. Dreams followed her, as the twilight follows sunset; and as the stars follow them.

Like a butterfly, she hid. She hid in her soft, warm chrysalis, safe from harm, safe from fear, safe from the outside world. Nourished by nothing but her Dreams. Stay, she begged, let me stay here in my home. Outside there are winds and weather and wicked things. Inside I am safe. I am whole. But the Dreams whispered deep in her heart: You are alive. To be alive means to change, to be alive means to grow. It means to break apart and become whole again. No butterfly is born for a chrysalis. Each butterfly's wings are designed and known before the tiny caterpillar emerges from the egg. Your wings are coming, and they will not wait.

Which ones are mine? she asked.

There were hundreds. Maybe thousands. The Dreams sparkled and glittered and exploded with color. She laughed and she sang and as she skipped through them all, she looked at each one. The cloudy majestic Dream over there shouted her name in an echoing baritone; the small, shining one so close at hand whispered oh-so-softly: come see me, come see me; and the Dream that sparkled bright dazzling cerulean said nothing, but when she saw it, her breath caught in her throat. She reached out and touched a small golden Dream, and could feel its delicate fragility tremble under the featherweight pressure of her fingertips. Tears formed, she was left speechless in her Joy. The Dreams captured the light and molded the sunbeams into radiant prisms. The air was pulsing, vibrant with the love and life and the unending possibilities that emanated from the Dreams. The Dreams were calling her name, with promises that one day she would soar.

All of them were hers.

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