Dreams are like babies being conceived.
It may take 9 months, or 9 days to birth them, maybe even 9 years, but you do give birth to them. You push them out of your womb for them to dance with the Earth, for Earth to dance with them.
You nurture them because they come from your flesh and spirit. You feed them with all your sweat and soul as the infant dreams grow up, as they move into the stage of adolescence.
You never give up on them even when they’re stubborn (or you’re stubborn), when they feel distant to you, when the situation triggers the bitterness, anger, laziness, fears in you and all you can do is cry, cry in the flood of your pain, get hurt in the dark hollows of your path.
But in the greater scheme of things, in the world’s natural order, you acknowledge such imperfections. You understand because you recall the childlike core your baby dreams reflect to you.
Of course you go on amidst the struggles because flourishing in your dreams means taking care of both its rewards and challenges. It means respecting the process which is the in-between, ultimately the destination. Here in the in-between, you witness your baby grow, evolve, explore, marry with other dreams and multiply its magic. Becoming bigger, becoming stronger and the miles your dreams reach are now wider.
Suddenly, you drop to your knees, helpless in the miracle of it all. Something inside your whole swell like a gathering tsunami, and salty tears ungraciously flow down your face. All because of this wild joy for the miracle of dreams being conceived, being birthed, being shared with the light of existence. Now, having grown with grace.
Now, you see a world teeming with beautiful dreams, tiny and large, newborns and full-growns, intertwining their breaths, dancing in their luminosity, just like how you dreamed it would be. Just like the phosphorescent planktons under the sea, or like the Aurora Borealis lights, or like how the sunshine and wind play with the flowers on your window on an ordinary, quiet day.
Your attention is so divine you transcend in what you think. It can’t possibly be helped, so you spill over, you blend in. Once you held it in your arms, now you are one with your dreams. You feel your lips move as words escape, “This must be magic.”