The Lost Art of Dreaming
I think of my childhood. I had dreams then. It was easy to believe in them. It was the only reality I knew. Untainted by all the impossibilities of life and untarnished by the disappointments that were bound to come. Free of burdens my mind could not yet carry. A heart untouched by evil or deceit. And a magical time of innocence. A momentous time of presence. Has believing in your childhood dreams become a lost art? A skill forsaken in the midst of new realities, but one that hounds you, seeks you out, chases you like a looming deadline? Push forward to find the pockets of inspiration that cross your path from time to time! For all that has happened in my life, I now accept and absorb all of what life has served me into my soul, and pray that when you squeeze me out, I will not hold inside me bitterness, rage and resentment, but instead will drip with gratitude, lessons learnt, wisdom gained. How many of us have experienced tragedy? How many of us have experienced pain? I know I am not...