It’s been that kind of day today, I think. Things are sort of lining up, but nothing is really going exactly the way I plan or want it to. But I guess that’s just life, right? Except that I can control what color of clothes I wear, and despite my best efforts, not everything else is within my power to change. It sucks, but it falls in line with a lot of things that I’ve been thinking about lately.
Kinda of like the Langston Hughes Poem,
“A Dream Deferred”
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
What happens when one realizes that the dreams that one has worked so long for aren’t within the realm of possiblilty? That no matter how much or how hard someone works sometimes it just isn’t going to happen.
Is this because some people pick unrealistic dreams? But on one hand, isn’t that what dreams are for? Dreams have many purposes, I think, one of which being that they allow us to continue on in a world that is less than our ideal because we can continue to hope (to dream) that our ideal world is possible. So why is it then that some people have dreams that won’t be attained, and others seem to get theirs without so much as lifting a finger?
I don’t know, it just seems like recently I’m afraid that a lot of my dreams are beyond my grasp, my dreams of what I want out of life are constantly, it seems, changing, re-evaluating more and more to what I think is possible today, but which turns out to seem utterly impossible the next. I’ve only ever had very vague dreams about what I wanted out of life, preferring to leave the finer details to the whim of fate.
On that note, dearest readers, I’ll leave you tonight with one of my favorite poems:
“Dream tonight of peacock tails,
Diamond fields and spouter whales.
Ills are many, blessings few,
But dreams tonight will shelter you.
Let the vampire’s creaking wing
Hide the stars while banshees sing;
Let the ghouls gorge all night long;
Dreams will keep you safe and strong.
Skeletons with poison teeth,
Risen from the world beneath,
Ogre, troll, and loup-garou,
Bloody wraith who looks like you,
Shadow on the window shade,
Harpies in a midnight raid,
Goblins seeking tender prey,
Dreams will chase them all away.
Dreams are like a magic cloak
Woven by the fairy folk,
Covering from top to toe,
Keeping you from winds and woe.
And should the Angel come this night
To fetch your soul away from light,
Cross yourself, and face the wall:
Dreams will help you not at all.”
— Thomas Pynchon
until next time,