Remember when you were a kid and you played and played for hours and time didn’t exist? You were lost, blissfully lost, in the flow of life. Be there for a moment. Small feet in the sand. Sound of the surf. Or maybe just you and a sketch book, graphite on your fingertips. Linger there. Listen for messages.
Going back to the kingdom of childhood is one way to retrieve a dream of who you might become, or who you always were but somehow left behind. You lived completely by your nature. Barefoot, preferably. When a fancy took hold, time became elastic or disappeared altogether like wonder bubbles hitting the pavement.
Lately I’ve been tending the garden of my dreams. I’m keeping Mary Oliver’s famous question in mind about my one wild and precious life. It makes me quiver, as good questions do. It keeps me honest. I see that I’ve got some weeding to do. I need to yank out any duds and make space for the seedlings and tight sweet buds that have been there all along.
One of the great things about creating this blog is that I have heard from so many of you about how our posts have made you think and dream and question and take action in your own lives. Ultimately this blog is not just about me and Michael and our family. It’s about you. What would you do with a year dedicated to dream time? One of you called this blog “a mirror.” One of you took me aside yesterday and whispered, “You inspired us. We’re going out West for a while, just as we always meant to do. We’ll hike and roam for weeks on end.” I’m beaming for you.
Meanwhile, take the invitation. Go back to “that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories.” That’s Rilke on childhood. If you feel like it, tell me what you find there. Seeds await.
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