I seem to have reached a phase in my life when I feel it’s better to re-read and re-watch everything that I loved in the past. Surely I would gain more from immersing myself in the knowledge of what came before, deeply, than to try and gather the surface of each new creation. I hunger for the true sense of deeply learning something good enough to replicate it into my own form. Feels like everyone is sharing their ideas and dreams these days, so freely; an ocean of minds converging and talking at once, but hardly anyone puts in real time into listening others.
If I could only name one dream that remained whole throughout my life, I would not call it a goal. I see goals as buildings with only one door and then a rooftop as high as the goal itself. Nowadays, goals are buildings in a horizon of hundreds. You cross the desert, open the door and start on your walk up the steps — and those stairs are crowded! There is a way to a goal, you know the steps to take, but there is also an ending, a rooftop that gives you goose-pumps, dread and self fulfillment all at once. But once on that stairs, you know what do to.
Dreams are less of a challenge and more of a platonic relationship you have with yourself, often too embarrassing to admit. From a very young age my deepest and most unreachable dream was to become a calm, wise and compassionate person. This was not a goal. Why this was always seen in the far distance from wherever I was in life had nothing to do with me or my actions, but with what had always surrounded me.
Contrary to common belief, I don’t agree that our actions define us. I believe that our actions are nothing but the push and pull of everything and everyone around us, mere physics like the tides on the shore. Our thoughts, the things we define as our dreams, the goals that we are too scare to fight for – that’s who we are in our deepest essence. And there is usually only one dream in us. If we can see a building in it before our life ends, we’ve lived a full life.
To say we are not what we do, but what we dream about in our quietest moment, is a debatable and illogical idea.
But logic never had anything to do with the makings of a soul, nor can I explain why I think like this. We came to existence from a fluke and we reached our reasoned and intelligent thinking from a sequence of random events that scientists still can’t explain in full, so I don’t assume to know for sure that every human soul shapes its logic around this paradigm, I just know it’s both my limit and my quest in life.
I always wanted to be calm, wise and compassionate, the kind of person I admire but never fully understood or met long enough to mirror, replicate and absorb into my DNA. I couldn’t set it as a goal because I couldn’t pinpoint it on the map of my existence. I had no direction to follow, no building blocks to puzzle over.
Maybe I never saw it as a goal because I never believed those attributes could be learned. I remember wondering when I was as young as 15 years old, if I would magically acquire these skills from old age and feeling a slant of hope in that thought. What makes a dream a reality? What turns it into a goal? And how do we keep it from vacuuming itself inwards into a dream again? I just know repetitive action, clocks and notebooks have nothing to do with it. That is not the kind of discipline dreams cling to, they are more loyal to a spiritual discipline that we still have no ground rules for.