I Dream Of This


Dreams. We all have them. We enjoy creating them. We live for believing in them. They comfort and sustain us. They arrive in many forms. Live in many sizes. Most die an untimely death, eaten by stalking predators. Never to be realized, never to be fulfilled. Able only to live on as a pleasant memory that can bring a small smile to our face out of place. A very few come to pass and mostly not how they were asked for.


Dreams are just as unique as the people who create them. Some have big dreams and push themselves to achieve them. Others have modest dreams and chase them as they see fit. Small dreams, well they are like a pair of well worn jeans. Easily found and achieved. Then comfortably fit within its success.


I am no different, probably falling somewhere in between having modest and small dreams. I'm not showy or comfortable as the center of attention. I prefer simple dreams, nothing too complex for my taste. I favor relaxing, taking life easy and taking my time. Thus, I never developed an overwhelming passion to achieve big targets. I never felt the need. I never wanted to prove something. I never saw the point. I just wanted to be serene, satisfied. I wanted to be without a burden to others. I dream of this.


To live a simple life. To live quietly. To make a living some other way. To live as I see fit, by my whims. To have a little corner to sit in for hours, a place to be left alone. To make peace within my skin. To make peace with the world around. To make peace with life. To become connected to the land if I want. Then die and return to the land. The seas. The winds. I dream of this.


Feeling now as if I have learned very little useful in life. I did learn procrastination. That has been well mastered. To rationalize, again that has been mastered. What I want to learn can not be taught, it must be experienced. To paint what I cannot see. To sing correctly out of key. To fly and then soar among clouds lit by a setting sun. To write not a report but a poem. To beat on a drum very much out of time but to my own rhythm. This would become a daily bucket list. I dream of this.


Knowing full well these expressions may not be any good in another’s eyes. Never to be hung in a gallery or museum. Never to be published in a book, magazine or on a web site, save mine. Never to be recorded so as become played over and over. I do not care about any of that since it is not the point. I have nothing to prove. Seeking personal peace is all I care for. If it makes me happy and hurts no one, then that is all that matters. I dream of this.


Over the years I have mellowed, becoming smoothed and polished with time and life. Mostly gone are the brash, young surfaces I was born with. Never liked them anyway, so that became a welcome change. Yet, when the moon is right, those brash surfaces reappear. I am a work in progress, as are my dreams. Some of these dreams still may be achieved, some may not. I am at peace with this prospect. Either way, I will happily coexist with all my dreams until the day I die. I dream of this.


Doug Thornhill (dct)