We are born in the sacred flames, charred and purified, condemned and resurrected. In the moment of our birth, we are given the gift of our death, something to fear, something to cherish. All love-making in between is burdened and exalted by this knowledge.
Our daily lives evolve with due diligence, connected to the careful strands of work, duty, order and material understanding. We toil and aspire. We struggle and triumph. It is so easy to believe that this is all there is.
But behind this mask is the real world, the eternal world. It is a world of magic, of unspoken dreams, of mysterious passages that connect. It is the world that percolates through our dreams, catches us unaware and leads us to do foolish, impetuous things.
There are times when everything tells us that what we wish for is impossible, but for some unknown reason we reach for it anyway, wanting it desperately and purely enough to be destroyed by the wanting – but wanting it all the same. And against all odds, like Orpheus descending into death and returning, we are granted our desire. There is no way to explain it; there is no logic to it, but out of our firm and earnest desire we are granted that one, impossible thing.
I believe in foolish dreams. I believe that by reaching for them we place our hands into the sacred fire that anneals and transforms us so that we can have the fortitude to break through to the world beyond the mask.
In many ways, our entire life is an impossible dream: we aspire to so much in such a short time. By trusting in foolish and impossible things we show ourselves to be worthy of the gift and the paradox of our lives.
So, dream those foolish dreams.