I have a dream.
It goes like this.
Mornings begin with the rising sun, the singing birds, and coffee.
Quiet, uninterrupted time allows the moodling mind to empty into the
journal with words and images. Meditation and music and movement bring
me closer
to the center of my soul, to the spirit wisdom that I seek.
Art studio in the woods, landscaped paths leading the way, I go there to meet
my muse. She and I, we together, bring into existence the visual
representation of the life lessons we learn.
My home is cared for with blessings of work that keep it well maintained and
clean and reflecting the creative people who live here. I hydrate with clear,
fresh water and choose the food that nourishes my body, taking my meals
with family and long conversations. We read together, laugh, and tell stories
of old and make wishes upon the stars. My love and I move through our lives
together, separate beings with entwined hearts and hands that make up this
one entity that is us.
I have a reality.
It goes like this.
Mornings find me struggling to wake because the night was too late; house
too loud to settle down. Coffee and rushed to do list jotted in the margins
of the too full calendar.
I squeeze in meditation moments when I remember or when the day feels
too overwhelming for anything other than sitting and breathing. Music and
movement might happen while I am cooking dinner in the evening.
I am known for dancing around the kitchen. I spiral around the semblance
of the center of myself, glimpsing the wisdom that I seek.
The art studio fund has given way to the home maintenance emergencies.
I have a small space across town that I get to sometimes but when I do, I don’t
want to leave my muse and I miss her when I am gone.
Laundry and dishes scream for my attention and meals are less inventive and
lean upon the frugal budget, catering to what the masses will eat.
More often than not, I come to the end of the day realizing that I have hydrated
far too little and indulged far too much. The long conversations that I long for
are often sidetracked by spirited debating of the favorite topic of the day.
We area loud and opinionated bunch.
They are outgrowing read-alouds. Their stories are shared with others more
than with me. I think they have given up wishing upon stars as well. Magic
sometimes doesn’t extend far beyond childhood.