dreams

A brief (but not Twitter length) thought on dreaming big.

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I’ve been trying to fit this thought into 140 characters in order to post it on Twitter, however even though this is intended to be brief, I simply need more than 140 characters.

Recently, I’ve shared a big dream with a number of people and I’m interested in the most common response which is ‘Wow, that’s a big dream‘ accompanied by a slightly skeptical expression. I used to take this more personally, as if somehow this was a reflection on me personally. Obviously these people thought I was being fantastical, ‘a dreamer’, incapable of making it happen.

But recently, I re-read a book called Synchronicity which talks about the power in creating something for its own sake, not for yours and I’ve realised that this is exactly how I feel about this dream I’ve had for so many years. I want this to happen not so much for my sake (although of course I’d love to be involved and that’s a key point because in order for this dream to manifest it will require collaboration) but for its sake. I want to see it come to life.

Understanding my relationship with this dream has consequently shifted the nature of my attachment to it. I feel like I’ve become an advocate for ‘it’, rather than ‘my’ project. So that when I hear people say ‘Wow, that’s a really big dream’ and look skeptical, I’m interested. As kids, we dreamed BIG dreams. We were allowed to dream big dreams, encouraged to. But as adults, somehow that’s silly. Not always, but in my experience, it usually is.

Why?

I’m interested in your experience, your thoughts…

Dreaming of the miracle that is you.

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Last month, I had one of the most vivid dreams I’ve experienced in years. The background to this dream is that here at home, we have a compost heap. And a month ago, on top of the compost there were old apples from a tree in the garden and wasps feasting.

In the dream, I saw the same compost heap but it was covered with old blankets. And while I didn’t know why the blankets were there, I did know that somehow I had to uncover it, without sending the wasps into a frenzy. Apprehensive but determined to do it, I took a deep breath and walked purposefully down the garden path.

Very quietly, gently, firmly, I took hold of one corner of one of the blanket and began to peel it away. And as I did, I heard a sudden fluttering of insects wings. I flinched. Turned away with my eyes tightly shut, expecting at any second to be stung. But it didn’t happen, the fluttering stop, I couldn’t hear any furious buzzing. So very slowly I turned back to the heap and was rendered speechless by what I discovered. For the compost – and all the wasps – had disappeared, and instead there was a clear surface made of dark shiny wood and it was completely covered with butterflies. Hundreds of them.

But these weren’t ordinary butterflies. While they were as ethereal and ephemeral as butterflies, shared the same delicate structure and were the same size, these little creatures represented every animal on earth. A miniature ark. As they fluttered one by one (rather than two by two), my eyes alighted on a tiny giraffe, a tiny elephant, a tiny lion, a tiny wolf, a tiny buffalo. All butterfly-like. Down the back of the garden on a wooden stage.

I was delighted. I felt lit up. And still felt that way when I awoke. I don’t always write my dreams down, but I did with this one and it has lingered during these past 4 weeks.

Last night, before I went to sleep, I came across a TED talk by cinematographer Louie Schwartzberg on the hidden beauty of pollination. You will find it below. Please, watch it before you leave. It’s only 7 minutes.

Today, walking home from a conversation about death with a group of wonderful people (it sounds grim, but was far from it) I found myself thinking about how miraculous life is. Recently I watched a presentation (online) given by one of my heroes, Sir Ken Robinson. In it, he suggests (and you can tell he really does find this miraculous) that we all just stop for a moment and consider how many people had to connect, down through the generations, in order for each one of us to be here. Think about your own family tree, how many people had to meet in order for you to be here.

This past month, I’ve found myself quite fascinated by quantum physics, quantum biology, astrophysics and astronomy. And so this evening, I’ve been thinking about how miraculous it is that I am, you are, not only a part of a family tree, but a part of this tree of life. If you consider the universe (I’ll admit that’s easier said than done) and imagine yourself on its outer most edge, then zoom in through space to this pale blue dot of a planet, home to an estimated 11 million species and 6.9 billion humans and the stage for a 4.55 billion year history of life on earth, how mind-bogglingly, goosebumpingly, light-a-fire-in-your-belly miraculous it is that you are here. You. Are. Alive.

Sit with that for a moment. The miracle that is you. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Feel it. In your body, in your mind, in your heart. In your soul.

How does it feel?

Let me know, I’d love to hear from you.