As a child I needed glasses, and later I had hearing problems, and on top of that I was terribly shy. Yet I would sit on the swings looking at the blue of the sky and be struck to the heart at how beautiful that color was. I’d look out my window at night at see a canopy of stars and be filled with wonder that I, insignificant and small, could see only a portion of the vastness of space... and ask the age-old question, "Why am I here?"
As I grew up and entered the world, I tried to do ‘normal’ things, always feeling out of touch and like a misfit. I believed the messages I received, that told me I was lazy, stupid, and worthless. I lost my dreams in my struggle to live as I was told I should live. I made choices I regret now but looking back I can see why, for I was fractured and full of self-doubt.
After many years, I managed to find my way back to dreaming. I began to sing. I found a profession in which being extra-sensitive actually makes sense – helping others like me to find their voices. And I began to write, write the music of my dreams, words, notes and sounds. Still after some success I lost my way... a few years ago, after losing my father, I don’t know why, but I stopped dreaming. The stars did not call to me, the sky was cloudy and I went through the motions of living without engaging in creative things.
But then I received a gift. I found a partner and best friend who is also a dreamer, whose heart is as soft as my own, whose eyes move to tears when his heart aches with joy or sadness or hope. I share my perspective with him and he listens. He has urged me over and over again to live my dreams. Finally I listened. I have awoken. Somehow music flows again. Words spill from my fingers.
I paint my days with sound.
Dreaming.
~
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