Somebody said to me a little while ago in a moment of confidences shared that I should never let anyone take away my dreams, when I heard those words I realised in my heart of hearts something I found disturbing, I had no dreams, there was no grand plan, not even maybe’s or intuition or path that I held as a dream. That bothered me, perhaps I had put dreams to one side, for a while and then forget where I put them, or worse that I was simply one of those people that just drifts through life, a rudderless ship carried by winds and currents, whatever the case I was dreamless and I did not like it.
Travel, a bucket list, ticked off one at a time, that keeps me busy, gives me some sense that I am doing something, indulgent, selfish, but it fills a hole, I scribble away, because I like it, sometimes some of it actually reads quite well. I exercise, a little, to keep myself moving. More than anything I am the observer, nature,people, skies, sunrises and sunsets, I watch, I listen and I look. In this I find a beauty, the eyes I look through are gentle, observant, open, and what I see moves me, it gets my heart, I have found beauty in so many places, in so many people, in moments so wide and far and near. But always the observer, not the participator, not the dreamer. It is not some pastel shaded lollipops and candy vision, often the beauty can be in the darkness, in melancholic and broken, but always there is beauty.
This weekend I went on a writing course, I did so because the hook line that convinced me to go was that the weekend would spark creativity, that’s exactly what I need, to step out of observation and into participation, to do so I need to be able to dream, to visualise what is not there, the possibility, the potential.
We sit in a windowless room, eight participants, two tutors, we are given exercises over a two day period, the Key tutor begins by saying that he will not comment on individual works, that criticism on individual pieces is not appropriate, the course is to spark the creative process.
The first exercise is to write for ten minutes, on the subject of I remember………….. I am the first to read out my piece. When I have finished the Tutor says that although he said he wouldn’t comment on individual pieces he felt he would, for the next two days I am told repeatedly that what I write is moving or powerful or touching. This of course is exactly what I want to hear. Over and over though all I write it comes from where I’ve been, it lacks the fantasy, it lacks the dreams.
I leave the course with the idea that maybe I can write well, that if I keep working at it I may get somewhere, and I continue my journey, looking for my dream.