It’s a classic story and one that warms my heart each time I hear it, or read it in a book. A life separated by the deep chasm of loneliness and despair. A life that is lost because of the painful reality of not knowing who is genuine and who is not. It begins simply enough with hopes and dreams and a willingness to believe that almost anything is possible — but it isn’t.
It’s okay now, but at one time it was critical that the point be made and the declaration driven home about the American Dream. But it was just that — a dream, a momentary lapse in the hard difficulty of life that made the present so painful but still hope was determined to find a permanent place in the heart.
The emotions begin to match the will as the temperament appears, surprisingly, at first. The dream has latched onto the intellect and found a place in the mind so as to renew the vigor and the energy that accompanies the change. Too often the dream seemed manufactured, but not today, not in this place, not at this hour — it is real, it is vivid, it is now.
It seems gentle, as if a friend who cares deeply, but still expects something in return. The clasp of the hand, the feel of the soft, firm skin arouses security and offers protection. The grasp affords the freedom to discover the nuance of those things that before seemed impossible, outlandish, out of the realm of possibility.
The soft breeze blows as the hard winter begins to allow spring to wash her gentle winds over the welcoming land and the dream begins anew. The possibility, the splendor, the absolute joy of what can happen now that it has been released.
And the dream stays alive.