Re-Evaluating the Dream

"All the leaves are brown, and the skies are gray. I've been for a walk on a Winters day.."

  Dreaming is something that, to most people, conjures up some surreal image of the future or some fantasy realm where the laws of physics simply don't apply. Dreams also are the building blocks that carry us up and over the obstacles that life sets in front of us. They're the perpetual carrot on the stick, the reason man learned to fly on that beach in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Dreams are the combustion fuel behind which we learn to move through all things, but what does it really mean? Are we all drunkenly chasing phantom vegetables? Are we hunting through minefields for gold nuggets, or are we being entirely realistic in chasing down the beasts of our desires and, with a little bit of luck, riding them into the sunset?

  What does it really mean to catch a dream? Can one even be 'caught'? Is it some great, tangible, wave, upon which we can climb and be carried to dizzying heights? I've never thought so. The sight of dreams comes in small moments. They're the moments of clarity in which we see through the smoke and fog, and catch sight of the great dragon spiraling through the sky, the end of a rainbow crashing through the burning trees. They're bastions of hope in a questionable hour, lighthouses on the shore of the future guiding us in blindly. We often know they're there, we often know they're on paths wrought with pitfalls, locked deep in the jungles filled with wild insanity and pitfalls.

  This is what sets apart the average dreamer from those hot-blooded freaks who climb into the saddle and wave middle fingers high at the risk of being burned. Most people see a dream, but are content to examine the beast like an animal in the zoo. They'll leave it on the other side of the bars, occasionally tossing it a handful of peanuts. Zoos are where wild dreams go to die. Caging up dreams in the desperation to maintain them, to be able to glimpse them from time to time, but to never have to take the risk to go out and find them in their natural state? This is the errand of mad fools.

  Then there are those strange, mad, cooks, who care not for the flames that burn, the traps and pitfalls, the dark shores littered with sharp rocks and ravenous sharks just waiting for the wayward hand to crash below the surface so they can snap it off as some kind of karmic lesson. These are the very people who let themselves fly -- and I mean this in a less than lucid way -- through it all. They're a band of scarred freaks who've, most likely, been beaten, scorched, and kicked like a Dog in some bad movie about an alcoholic Father. Sure, there's the rare bastard who's never missed a step, never lost a limb in the pursuit of something real, but who do you think appreciates life more?

  I've always fancied myself this latter kind of dreamer, someone willing to dive headlong into the dark and muddy waters off the shore -- be damned the sharks -- and swim. Sure, I've been bitten more than most, but I've never once looked down at the marks with anything less than a healthy grin of appreciation. It's never preferential to be mauled in pursuit of anything, but that doesn't mean the destination was any less worth it because the ride was a little intense. I prefer intense rides anyway. We're built to appreciate the calm, but without the perspective of surfing a tsunami in the middle of a war, we never really get to appreciate those moments.

  I've been addicted to dreaming my whole life. I've been reckless in my pursuit of them, to be sure. I've cared little for the ramifications, the hazards, any of it. I've said all this before. What I also understand is that I have a propensity toward building grand designs and setting them loose on the oceans, only to let them float away because I wasn't really willing to tie off the veins and take the heavy spike it would require. I hesitated at the last moment and ended up coming up with handfuls of fur and dirt more times than I can count.

  Dreams are not things designed to be caged in relative safety. They are dangerous animals, full of wild an unpredictable possibilities. Locking them up in a cage just makes them lose their splendor, and eventually they all go mad and start feasting on their own filth and shit, screaming wildly at phantoms only they can see. I've seen this kind of thing happen before -- and let me tell you, it's horrific. Riding on the back of a dream is something they don't seem to mind, but you've got to prove to them you're capable, able, worthwhile, and strong enough to handle it. You don't need to break them. You don't need to beat them. What you've got to do is convince them to respect you.

 There are no professionals either. None among the whole Kingdom of Men has tamed a dream enough to show you how it's done. Sure, we can all stand back, cupping our chins in a feigned sense of profound thinking, trying to help you figure out a few steps you could take to close the distance, but ultimately it's up to the dreamer. In those last few moments, it's up to the dreamer to tangle with the fury of a wild dream and hope -- foolishly -- to come out unscathed.

  The point of this though? I've seen, on all sides of the fence, too few who really reach out and snatch the fruits that are in front of them. Too many who see the forest, and the trees, but enjoy neither. I've decided that the prospect of dreaming could stand for some kind of revision -- personally if nothing else. For too long the pursuit of survival been defined by eating, fucking, breeding, and dying. As admirable as the simplicity of this is, I've found it rarely contributes to much in the sense of raw jubilation that I hear people equate with the sensations they have upon first waking from a deep sleep.

  This is the beginning of a wild new journey, an I'm following it with all the wild fervor I've got. I've seen too many, myself included, lose sight of it all because things got too thick, too heavy, & too hard. This is designed to be the trumpet call to those of you out there who feel the weight's just too much. Dreams aren't things we should be afraid of at all. Is there danger in the ride? Absolutely, but the chase itself is an exhilarating experience, an I'm going for it. No holds barred. No looking back. No white flag to wave in surrender.


  There's a place, out there, just before the edge, where your choices are sink, swim, and soar. It's the point where we'd all like to turn back from and toss ropes out blindly fog and hope to reel something in -- a fresh catch to cage. I intend to find it. I intend to push past it. I'm cutting the brakes to remove even the idea of turning back. I'm diving headfirst over the cliff and into the fog.

 It's a journey where going for broke is the only way to go, and don't you come back without something to share. Give your all, and then give some more. It's the trip where you play your music loud and scratch your words out louder -- where you go home exhausted or save yourself the trip.

  I'll be packing along the words for this trip, so you'll all know what I find, and should I never quite return? I'll offer my condolences and apologies now to all of you who knew me. Dreaming is a dangerous thing sometimes but I think it's time we're all reminded that The Edge is out there. There's a point where the land rolls back and all we've got is sea and sky. I have no way of knowing what will happen, but that's the idea. I'm not chasing a dragon in the sky, I'm not even chasing something I'd consider tangible. I'm off to hunt down the biggest and baddest of all, the very idea of dreaming itself.

  Consider it a verbal documentary on stupid risk taking, only without the neon lights and used car salesmen that had defined it previously. This is a re-evaluation of just what it means to dream. While I'm aware that the experience is different for everyone and, thus, no real guidelines can be written, this is a reminder that the possibilities are there. In closing? Shakespeare.

"Falstaff:
I will not lend thee a penny.


Pistol:
Why then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.


Falstaff:
Not a penny."

Life, I will not sit back and ask from the authority on high, for a simple gift of delight. I'll simply go out and find it all for myself, thank you very much. Consider this your one and only warning...I've unleashed the Wolverine.

"Go hard, high, and steep, and never back down; not even from a grizzly, and least of all from a mountain. -- Eat everybody; alive, dead, long dead; its still warm heart or frozen bones." It's the Wolverine way.