Dreams and Fruit

Dreams are like apples. They sit there on the counter waiting for you to pick them up and consume them. Most of the time we pass them up. We go right by them toward the chocolate, the hotdogs, the Pasta-Roni. But an apple is so lovely. But we only know that when we decide to pick it up.

I had some amazing dreams last night. Not just subconscious grix that floats around like algae in the brain, but the hopes-and-wishes kinds of dreams too.

The problem with dreams is that we treat them like books. They are so satisfying to pursue, but it takes us slowing down and breathing before we can hear their siren call. And most of the time I don't want to slow down. I don't want to get quiet enough to hear the whispers of sadness that float around in my soul; and I don't want to listen to my daylight dreams because they require that stillness. And then they require my heart. I have to work on them, I have to labor over them. I'd rather watch 24, it's immediate, it's adequate. It comes to me. It requires little of me.

I guess I am tired. (To quote my friend, "You've had quite a year.") And my tiredness is hope and light, because being tired is what happens - right before you dream...