(I’m back. I’m not sure for how long, but I’m back. No promises.)
This morning as I was scrolling the BBC headlines as I do every morning, I found the most fascinating article. It was all about larger-than-life dream buildings that were never actually built. Architects throughout the ages have had big visions and less-than-big budgets, I suppose. Some of the buildings would have never probably been feasible and others were tossed to the wayside along with the political or cultural regime with which they were affiliated (ie: The Third Reich. We’re thankful on a number of levels that the monstrosity was never built).
Someone’s dream ended up in the trash heap.
Do you relate?
I’ve tossed a couple in that direction recently. Well, I would be lying if I said “tossed.” I’ve placed them there, intentionally, with a limping, bruised heart and a soul swirling about with dark clouds. I’ve placed them there because that’s the only place they fit now. Every step to the bin and every step away from it has been on purpose. Interesting how that works, isn’t it? We don’t typically throw something away and then stand there looking at it; we walk away from yesterday’s junk mail or the slimy banana peel. Dreams are tough, though. We want to look. We’re drawn to linger.
Walking away is good, though. It’s healthy. The air is more clear and there’s much to see. I continue to remember because I’m human, but I also find that other things begin to fill my mind and heart. The dark clouds that seemed to have taken up residence begin to shift and even if they’re not completely gone, they let beams of sunlight through that change my view. New vision, new colors, new day.
The old dreams were beautiful, but there are new dreams to be had. I can’t force them and I will wait patiently for them. I will look, especially when those sunbeams are bright, for shapes and ideas that I hadn’t previously known. I’ll let the sun warm me and prepare me for something new. Sometimes I might sing a little song while I look and sometimes I’ll be quiet.
The trash can is full if we’ve lived more than a few years on this earth. Big dreams, small dreams, they don’t all get framed and put on the wall. We keep making them, though. We remain open to inspiration and all the things that first taught us to dream. And the putting them away… it may never become easier, but we do begin to see a pattern of goodness and restoration when we’ve been brave enough to do it. We begin trusting and knowing that a dream gone away doesn’t mark the end of the story.
One day I’ll build a building and it will be grand. It might not look that way to any of you, but it will be built of hope and love and songs and all these things I’ve collected on my way. Those things will never go away and I believe that they just might make something beautiful after all.