What are you afraid of?
Better yet – what are you afraid to dream of?
What dream do you hold only in the slightest suspension of breath deep in your gut, in the smallest, most hidden of places within?
Why protect it so hard, unless it is truly vulnerable?
Why should it be vulnerable, unless it is truly you?
What is that dream of yours that—should you breathe a word of it or even dare to take one tentative step toward it—could spiral out of your control and send you galloping down a never-worn path to god knows where— save, perhaps, your destiny?
That dream that makes you want to pull tight on the reins, to slow down, to regain control of a very fragile situation?
But you can’t control this dream because this dream is bigger than you.
It’s beyond you.
It’s not even yours, really.
It’s the universe dreaming through you,
spirit calling you to be something nebulous and undefined— a dangerous thing to be in a world that likes
and certainty—but to dream is to return to something much more risky,
to be in a quantum state of both
what is and what could be all at once,
to be both dreamer and dream.
Because that is what we are really—
dreams dreamt into being by a world that needs to imagine bigger, brighter,
to chase the shadows of nightmares past.
We, the dreamers,
We are only as big as the dreams we dance towards,
the dreams that we let define us.
We are only as small as the dreams we let slip away.