Before the dreams float away...

Where is that director yelling “Cut!” when my scene needs re-shooting? Where is my editor?? Where is that rewind button on my life? I need it, say, along about now would be a good time. Oh yeah, there are no such concoctions. They are only my contrivances. Being only my inventions, they would never do anyway.

Have you ever seen the movie “Brainstorm” with Natalie Wood and Christopher Walken? If you have not seen it, the premise is that a scientist invents a machine that is able to record a person’s thoughts. One of the dying inventors captures her last thoughts before her death. Her thoughts are depicted as little memory holding bubbles that come in and out of focus.

Ever since first seeing that movie years ago, in my mind’s eye, I envision my memories as a large mass of colorful frothiness floating around in a sink full of dish water. Now that is not romantic imagery, is it? That is me! At certain times in my life, I stop and wonder “Is this making a memory bubble?” “Am I piling on the suds?” “Will I remember this at death?” 

In life’s finality, will there be time to remember anything? What will be significant enough that I will remember it in my last and most profound seconds? Which bubbles will float up to burst in on my concluding thoughts?

Often, I sit in darkness when the faint radiance of a certain bubble begins to illuminate my reasoning. I reveal it now only so you may zoom into it with me. I am sitting across from a teacher. We are discussing writing. I say “I will never be able to write what I dream. I will never possess adequate ability.” The teacher says “Free your dreams. You cannot fear standing naked in front of the world exposing your inner most thoughts.” But I argue “It is not that. I have no fear of exposure. I do not have the word power. I do not speak the language of my dreams. I have the desire but not the tools.” The teacher replies “You are the author of your dreams. Of course, you speak the language. You will find it.” Then, I think to myself as I turn to leave “Yeah and people in hell want ice water too.”

The clock’s hands are turning and not stopping. Shadows grow long. Daylight is waning. Yes, along about now would be a good time to find the words for my dreams. My dreams cannot die with me. I was born to dream and I want to share them before they fade. Dreams are beautiful yet fleeting things.