There’s an idealist in all of us. It’s the part of us that comes alive only at certain points of our lives. More of our personalities are pessimism, cynicism, realism, and sometimes on rare occasion, optimism. But without fail, there is an idealist in all of us. As human beings it’s part of what we need to survive. All of us live dismal lives at one point or another. We have a huge capacity for suffering, loathing, and self pity. As a species we are rather good at feeling sorry for ourselves and no matter how good your life has been you have felt miserable, you have felt horrible, you have felt as if it would be better if you’d never been born. On a day to day basis it’s never this bad. Most of us going on living our lives, driving, working, eating, talking. Living. But there is part of us, tapped or untapped, known or unknown, that … dreams.

“to dream
The impossible dream …”

It’s the most dangerous human capacity, dreaming. To dream is to know. To know what goes beyond, to know who is behind the eyes of the person you love. To dream is to be and to feel and to Live. With a capital L. Dreams are such a huge and indestructible part of who we are. When we strike out into the world, fighting for ourselves, we see only the dream, shining and beautiful at the end of the journey. The thing that we have striven toward, wanted for, loved and written about. The thing we thought about and needed, with something that cannot be described as soul, but deeper than soul. That is the beauty of dreams. They are the deepest and most complete portraits of who we are.

“have dreamed thee too long,
Never seen thee or touched thee.
But known thee with all of my heart.
Half a prayer, half a song,
Thou hast always been with me,
Though we have been always apart.”

As people we are flawed little things. We are lowly and snobbish and conniving. There are those who would still for the fun of it and those who would lie for no reason at all, those who would pollute the world with their hatred. We are twisted and maimed, torn and bloodied. We’ve been battling the evil in ourselves since the beginning of time. Evil is what we know. Cruelty and injustice, corruption and bigotry. These are the things that we know. In our world, in our time, these are the things that we all recognize as a part of our dingy and fragmented lives. Is there something else, something more, something that we understand so deeply we can’t speak it, only feel it with all of our hearts and … try ? That is the difference. There are those who dream.

“To dream the impossible dream,
To fight the unbeatable foe,
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go;
To right the unrightable wrong.”

To dream is our gift, our curse, and our duty. Is there anything so precious as the moment of bursting clarity that there is more to life than there is ? In a single moment of flashing miracle, it is possible to the see the world for what it could be. And once that moment is past, to long for it, look for it, and fight for it,f for the rest of your life. That is a dream.

“And the world will be better for this,
That one man, scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,
To reach the unreachable stars! ”

For me, I want everything that I never believed was possible as a child. I want the moments of solitude, alone but not lonely. I want peace in my home and music in my life. I want love, uncontaminated and pure. I want to know what it is to dream and have those dreams come true.
It requires me to fight, every inch of me is needed. It requires me to suffer, every pound of me burning with passion. That is what a dream is. Head in the clouds, feet on the ground, we see the goal and never understand the journey until we have set foot on the path. And when you do … it hurts. It aches. And our bodies and minds cry out, NO, I can’t, I am too weak, we are too small, there is nothing that can be done in an imperfect world. And we falter. And we fall. And we look at the stars in the sky and think that they are too far away to be touched by mere human hands. And weep for the impossible.



And the soul whispers. Something. Something. Just a sigh to the body racked with pain and the mind strained to insanity. And the soul whispers. Something. Something. And a tear falls from the dirty cheek to the stained hands. And the soul whispers. Something. Something.
Dream ? Why ?
To be clubbed and beaten and scorned by the world for it ?
Dream ? Why ?
To be laughed at and spit on and exiled ?
Dream ? Why ?
So that everyone will know the most fragile secrets of who you are, what you want ? So that each person will be able to reach into the depths of your person and rip your heart out ?
Dream ?
Why ?

Laid bare, on the ground, covered in the world’s filth, is there a single person without fear, without pain, without regard for what is impossible ?
And what is impossible ?
Is it naught but the belief made by mortal men, that there is no way, no fire, no flight, that can take you to what you so desperately want. Impossible ? Impossible is the dream of those who would have us believe that the world is nothing but a dung heap, and we the maggots that crawl upon it. What is impossible, but the death of possibility, by those who are too afraid to take it.

Dream ?
Always.
Why ?
Because, I have to. And torn in my life, throughout the hardships and the pain there is nothing I could do to stop myself from being a dreamer. I have to. There is not other way of living but to realize that there is more and to want it with everything in me. My heart breaks because I know as well as the next person the impossibility, but I cannot turn away. I have no way of doing so. There is nothing for me but to dream.

Dream ?
Yes.
Why ?
Because. Someone has to do the impossible. Or die, trying.

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