The picture is of a painting that my mother hung over my cot when I was a baby. It’s a poor reproduction and it has suffered through time. But it remains very special to me.
Cyranny suggested here that she had a wonderful childhood (that’s what she said at the start of the post, anyway, so I just ran with it. She may have denied it later) and that is certainly my remembered experience, likewise. Others have informed me that I am mistaken, that in fact my childhood was influenced by all sorts of negativity and unpleasantness. But that’s not how I remember it. And if I can’t rely on my own memory then what can I rely on???
But if I’m wrong then it would suggest that it’s all been a dream and so I thought … maybe that’s it. Maybe this is just a dream and I’m writing to you from within that dream … though you are all, I suppose, in that dream with me …
But I really did wonder if, from birth, one begins to dream of what lies ahead and of what one’s life might become. But as time goes on one’s life takes its own twists and turns and doesn’t really take the same direction as the dream, but the dream is happy to adapt to circumstances and alter its past so that it always stays aligned with the only reality that it knows. So eventually the dreamer (you and I) comes to an inevitable point where the dream becomes a fulfilled prophesy.
But the dreamer doesn’t like the prophesy and thinks, “What went wrong? What can I do about this?” The answer is obvious. It’s time to start dreaming again.
So the dreamer dreams of being the little boy who thinks he can dream of whatever he wants …. but he is doomed, eventually, to dream of being the dreamer. And around and around it goes.
Does that make any sense to anyone? Or am I just dreaming?
Anyway …. I wrote another silly poem about it ….
Oh, to be that little boy
Each little thing, a little toy
Each little story, little book
Enchantment with each little look
Oh, to be again so small
When now I stand so very tall
Please gently tuck me into bed
Put little dreams within my head
Oh, to be so sweet. Naïve.
Oh, to sleep with make-believe.
To wake with every day anew
With every dawn a different view
I’ll dream forever. Or until
I wake to find I’m dreaming still
With treasured dreams I cannot keep
Until, again, I fall asleep
Each dream a dream, and once begun
A dream of what I’ve now become
Each dream will reach this moment when
I dream to be that boy, again.