I pray for the visitation of my childhood dreams - those I incoherently long for in my exhausted-adult sleep-state. I want them back! The ones that woke me up early - excited to play my guitar before breakfast. The ones that gave me energy to walk several miles home from school, eat a quick snack so I could sing and play for hours at my beloved piano - the huge old upright given to me by Maida Mark, my grandmother.
Are those dreams still hovering there in the ether? The ones that kept me believing that someday I would write and record songs that would be played on the radio? Those dreams came and inspired me to give myself to the discipline of the doing, the reaching, the persevering, the believing and I did it! I wrote the songs, recorded them, and heard them on the radio!
I did all of that before I was twenty-four years old. If I did that then, I should be able to do all of that and more, now, as a middle-age woman. Have life's experiences worn me so far down that I don't dream anymore? Is it simply about energy? Do I have a certain number of bars on the battery and that's it?
I once fully believed it was possible to do what was revealed to me in the night. What changed? Are my dreams and visions now dulled, blurred by the need to grasp at security? Helen Keller once profoundly stated that security is an illusion.
I need my dreams on perpetual-recycle to keep reminding me that I can still, at any age, live the life I was conceived and born to live. Carpe Manana
Pam Mark hall
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