Dreams dreams dreams.
They flew in his head around and around, millions of flying colors whizzing about, surprising that they didn’t run into each other.
“How to catch one? How to find one? How to focus in on one and attain it.”
They whizzed and whizzed and whizzed, but the beauty was in the whizzing. The congregation of color, of feeling, of passion and joy. The purpose and potential each whizzing dream gave the future, the wholesome pursuit they created in unison.
“To be a writer, to be a painter, to be a photographer, to be an actor, to be a scientist, to be an athlete, to be a businessman, to be a doctor.”
Each held a life that seemed grand.
Each held a life that seemed special.
“To be famous, to be recognized, to be fulfilled, to be rich, to be wholesome, to be philanthropic, to be selfless, to be smart.
To walk down the aisle of a grandiose occasion, camera lights flashing, press yelling, magazines printing tomorrow’s issue. To feel special in a fleeting, brief – but special -moment. To do things, be things, act as things unconventional, unattainable. Unusual and unique.
Or to pay homage to the fact that life is more than that, that it is less, but it is more. To be practical, to recognize the truths in practicality and common living. That special exists elsewhere, special exists everywhere.”
A common, undying struggle of the ordinary human being. To dream, to tussle in dreams, to writhe in dreams.
To be what? To be what.
To live what?
To pursue what?
“Moments of clarity and moments of illusion. But is it not clarity that keeps you idle? Illusion that makes you chase other things…
To be happy.
To be happy.
That is what we all want.
That is what we all have.
If we focus in, understand, and foster it ourselves.
I have happiness, we all do. It is right there, with the privilege, with the people, with every moment we are able to live comfortably, firmly.”
A realization he had made realized years before, practiced every day. But it felt different, now.
“If I have a roof over my head, some money to spend, friends by my side, and a family smiling wide – I’m happy. With a lens of secure contentment, what more can conventional bring?
What real living exists in idle motions. What genuine breath is taken in stride of a passion not pursued.”
“Fuck the conventional”, was his pinnacling thought.
Practical is not real. Practical is only half of what is true.
Written in Davis, California, U.S.A.