Friday, August 10, 2012
It would seem that Dreams held close to the chest, near to the heart, are the ones that will come true when least expected. The Dreams spoken aloud, pursued, chased, forced, will fall flat, wither, flounder, fail, either in practice or substance. Dreams are ethereal, should be handled as carefully as the gossamer strands of a spiderweb glistening with morning dew. Beautiful, delicate, fragile, yet with a strength belied by insubstantial appearance. Dreams cradled in the heart, whispered alone into the darkness, carefully tended and kept from prying eyes and mocking naysayers. Dreams such as these grow in power, gain momentum, build energy, all on their own. These are the Dreams we feed with our own vital force. These are the Dreams that will hide from the light of day until they are ripe and ready for plucking. Such Dreams cannot be rushed, hurried, forced, or they will become hollow vestiges of what they may have become. Any fruit picked too soon is hard, flavorless, bitter, best cast aside. But fruit harvested at the peak of perfection is sweet, juicy, fulfilling, satisfying. These are the Dreams worth waiting for, succulent, delightful, enriching. Dreams nurtured in the heart.