when death comes to a dream

Have you ever had a dream? A vision? A desire so sweet that its fulfillment is like the finest chocolate on your tongue, savory, soft, melting, coating your palette with a richness of flavor and your life with brightness and joy?

I have that dream and desire.

I have to let them go.

I have to let the dream go.

It is unimportant, for blog purposes, what the dream and desire are. The dream has been near and dear to my heart for a while.

It’s been nurtured within with hope and faith.

In that spirit, it’s been the centerpiece of each and every vision board I’ve created during new moons. Too, it has been the focal point in the home as framed art on the walls that I pass and look at daily.

I’ve nurtured the hope that this dream would manifest as a mother* nurtures her infant.

*Well, not my mother. A good mother. I’m sure they’re around — if nowhere else, in the animal kingdom!

I nurtured that hope with faith. With patience. With steadfastness.

(I don’t mean to sound religious or Biblical there. Religious is not I. The qualities are of human nature; one needn’t attend church or read the Bible to discover or be schooled in them. Only live life.)

Over a long course of time, there’ve been … reasons to hope that the dream might come to pass, in degrees. There are others involved, you see, as well as a situation — a stage upon which this story is taking place with these many characters — involved.

This is not a dream and desire that can be made manifest by my own efforts. I’m but a small part of the greater whole.

Recently appeared hints of spring. Small rays of light upon a dry desert that had seen no change for a very long time.

I was so excited. Chomping at the bit to move forward as the vision-dream unfolded! Joyful.

Quickly doth things change.

Those hints of promise are no longer. Actions (involving others) have occurred that have shut the door. The window to the green field is closed.

The dream will not take place. It will not come to pass.

No time soon. In truth, probably never.

I need to let it go.

I need to bury the child within. The child as the inner part of us who lives on hope and faith and certainty that things can be better than they are. In imagination if nowhere else.

I am deeply struggling right now.

This dream, desire, vision — it was all I had. Sure, the odds of it coming to fruition were small (as I wrote, because of circumstances and others involved).

Yet against all appearances, I nurtured it, tenderly, lovingly, with my heart and my spirit, my actions and my thoughts.

I have to let it go.

I have to let the dream go. The vision. The hope and the faith.

I grieve like the (caring) mother, standing alone at the grave, burying her infant.


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