Longing

I feel it in my dreams. Not the ones I struggle to allow when I am awake - the ones that come in my sleep when my mind is allowed to wander and visit old thoughts and snippets of memories.

I am visited in those dreams by faces from long ago. I visit houses and places that only exist in memory and old photographs. My mind combines the two together.

Sometimes I am old, sometimes young. If I allow my mind to wander, if I do not use the full force of my lucid dreaming abilities, I will continue down those old paths - the same, yet different.

Nothing makes sense, and everything makes sense. It is the way of dreams. They find the longing in your heart, and magnify it.

I see myself on those hazy paths.

I could be strong, but I give into the failure.

I could be sure, but I give into the frazzle.

I could be safe, but I give into the fear.

When I can not stop myself from thinking it through any longer, when I have to analyze the moments through the haze, I see the longing.

It is there. Staring at me. As physically imposing as a mountain, and more real than the haze around me. The longing for more, less, different.

I could reach out my left hand and touch it. But I do not. I know one touch will give it power, and it will carry me off. Carry me beyond the safety of the haze and the surety of dreams I can control at will. The longing will draw me to places unknown, and I am not ready for that. Yet. Maybe ever.

For now, I wait on that hazy path. I search for the center of my soul, the quiet place, and listen for the beat of the Rabbi's heart. In my dreams, I allow the longing to stand close for the day I might be ready to follow it into the unknown. As I wake, I feel its presence behind me. Hand stretched out. Waiting.

Tweet