Saturday, September 10, 2011

When old dreams die

Spring has appeared like a new mural in the street gallery.  Leaves are falling like rain and while that may seem typical of autumn, here in Brisbane, it’s what spring does.  

The dried leaves of winter have decided to reconnect with mother earth.  I just swept some up from my little courtyard.

Uncharacteristically, there’s a cold wind blustering through and it's caught many of us unawares.  It's understandable. 

You look out your cozy dwelling and delight at the new leaves almost iridescent with golden sunlight while the sky beams a remarkable blue.  But step outside and the cold wind bites you with little hesitation.  Ouch!

I’ve never felt this way about spring before but I am feeling restless.  And yes, it is about spring for even though it is new and fresh and promising, I find myself standing still with a heart full of dying dreams.  

This spring is making me feel anxious.  No, I am not blaming it at all or holding it responsible.  I’m just saying that while it is offering me so much, I feel like I’ve been turned over like the page of winter in a book of seasons.  

I’m looking strangely wistfully at this new season and smelling the stale odor of these dying dreams of mine.  Why, I wonder, a little bewildered.

I think I know.  (Oh, don’t I love the process of writing for it brings to light what can hide in the shadows of familiar thoughts!)

I think they aren’t big enough anymore.  They no longer inspire me for they do not see enough of the largeness and grandeur of my spirit.  And that being so, I am now happy to let them die peacefully.

They’ve served their purpose.  They've kept me company through winter and like perfect gentlemen, they’re departing without overstaying their welcome.  

Thank you my gorgeous dreams of winter.  Thank you for keeping me warm and dancing with me throughout that season.  Thank you for walking me home.  And thank you for leaving so gracefully.

So, here I am spring, emboldened by your vibrant colors and unexpectedly cold winds.  Your candor is not wasted on me.  I shall rise to the occasion and fill your presence with mine. 

Like you, I’ll wear my bright colors and tease the air with fresh perfumes.  Like your new birds, I’ll sing and speak with enthusiasm and boldness.  And like the jacaranda that spreads its purple flowers softly across its branches and over the ground, I’ll spread my intentions and dreams softly across the universe.

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