i dream of reading every book ever, internalizing all of these stories, being able to pull them out at the right moment. i rediscovered this weekend that very little makes me happier than hunkering down in bed and losing myself in other worlds.
i dream of shelves and shelves of beautiful, ornate, intricate votive holders. glass with pewter star and moon decorations and red, purple, yellow and gold iridescent patterns. candles everywhere.
i dream, sometimes, of a small room that is only mine, bathed in a red glow from a chinese lantern. i dream of sitting on the floor amongst pillows and meditating, reading tarot cards, reading, writing.
i dream of having it all together. being the kind of person that cooks with whole grains like bulgur and quinoa every night and wakes up early every morning for exercise. that knows which boutiques to shop at and which bars are hip.
i dream, a little bit, of being a wood nymph, dancing along a stream. (i never said these were all realistic)
Oh, hell, realism and dreams dance with each other but usually go home alone at the end of the night. On the nights they don’t… well, I love fireworks, but life doesn’t issue them every day.
So many of these dreams are my dreams. Sometimes I’m aware that my life is very close to a dream, that I have more than I ever had any right to expect, and then I feel guilty for wanting more. But I do, I always do, and I can flesh out those dreams with so much color and so many details that I know reality stayed over the night before.
I like your dreams.
I find dreamless states to be the scariest ones. I am drawing so much strength from your dreams.
Also, I love Kim’s comment about dreams and realism dancing…