The notebook fell open
On the page
That listed her dreams
She surveyed them now
A list that had grown
Longer over the years
With many different wishes
How many had she ticked off
How many had she crossed out
A wry smile crossed her mouth
As she read
Some so fanciful, obscure
Some so banal, simple
Many were not hers
Rather, constructs of a society
That had had her believing
Conditioned to what was success
So many pages in this book
Held ideas, images, plans
Many no longer resonated
Felt foreign to where she stood
In the world now
She realised why
These dreams had come from her head
Not her heart
This was the reason
They had not come into being
Remained just dreams
She closed the book
And tossed it into the flames
It was not her
They were not her dreams
She no longer needed to fulfil
The dreams of others
Or fit a mould that felt
Tight and constricting
She then ran her hand
Over the cover
Of her new book
Promised herself that this time
Her dreams would come from her heart
In doing this, she felt sure
That they would manifest
Into her reality
Straight from her heart centre
Into her world
Into being
She opened the cover with excitement
And began the alchemy
The magic, the dreaming
Of her hearts passion
It was time......
تعليقات