I used to be obsessed with my dreams.  I was the one who bought the books and looked up the themes and symbols.   I asked questions right before I went to bed hoping I’d find answers in dreams.   I wrote single words and even lists in the morning and weeks later had no idea what I was on about.  That state of confusion isn’t limited to dreams.

I don’t remember my dreams anymore.  Perhaps because a major one came true, and I’m awake and living it.  Or maybe the alarm kicks on every morning and douses the lights on the play in my head, before I can remember it.

Some questions are answered, some ghosts laid to rest.  There are new questions though.  What are we doing this weekend?  What will I write today?  Is there any beer?  These are important these days.  And that’s OK.

Maybe waking up and living just to live makes dreams happen, and makes room for others we didn’t know we had.

What did you dream last night?  What are you living today?

The Sky through the trees in Pisa, Italy.

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