Re-dreaming

Monday night I wrote a list of all my dreams. A list of all I wish had happened and would happen in my life. A list of who I wish I was.

The divide between that list and my reality is like a thick constrictor squeezing the fragile stem of potential until hope falls off petal by petal and all that's left is a torn and bleeding headless stick wallowing in the dirt.

I need to look at my list of dreams not for practical ways of how to achieve or replace them as the CBT-ers would have me do, but to meet them deep and raw; to grieve them so I can let them go; to mourn them so I can move to a new field and not feel like I'm settling.

And while I am running naked into the dreams, before the goodbyes, I must uncover where their roots lie; if there are wounds out of which they have grown, drawing their life from the raw pain and not allowing it to mend, then I must tenderly chop the trunks, and dig up all the roots, and pack up the hole; filled.

Then when the grass sprouts new there, the longing will have left, and I can move to other fields with hope, energized and motivated, and full,

Eager and smiling.