Where do dreams come from? Do they
sneak in through torn screens at night
to light on the arm like mosquitoes?
Are they passed from mouth to ear
like gossip or dirty jokes? Do they
sprout from underground on damp
mornings like toadstools that form
fairy rings on dew tipped grasses?
No, they slink out of books, they lurk
in the stacks of libraries. Out of pages
turned they rise like the scent of peonies
and infect the brain with their promise…
(From: “Where Dreams Come From” by Marge Piercy, The Hunger Moon: New and Selected Poems, 1980-2010.)
(Note: This week’s post is taken from an earlier post in October, 2013, when I was also visiting my daughter and her family in Okinawa. I am again thousands of miles from my home and office and from the quiet I enjoy each morning. Instead, I am awakened each morning by Nathan (almost six) and Emily (three & a half) for a morning cuddle and a story before breakfast–then the day begins, a whirlwind day of activity, and again, at bedtime a ritual of nighttime stories to be read each evening. Even as I write this note, my grandson is pacing the hallway, checking my progress every minute or two, waiting impatiently to reclaim his grandmother for another day of fun. Thus, tI offer this modified post from my last visit–still as relevant now as it was then.)
I’ve been in Okinawa for the month, helping my daughter as she recovers from surgery, the better part of my day and evening spent in the company her children, Nathan, age four and Emily, two. The day winds down each evening at seven p.m., as I guide them upstairs for our nightly routine of face washing, teeth brushing, and each of their choices for a nighttime story. Nathan chose Mousetronaut, written by former astronaut, Mark Kelly, the tale of a small mouse who wants nothing more than to travel to outer space. The children snuggled close to me as I began reading.
“Gramma,” Nathan stopped me after the first couple of pages. “I want to be an astronaut.”
“You do? Well, if you try hard enough, maybe you will be an astronaut someday.
“Yes, but wait,” he said, turning the pages until he reached the page with the picture of the space team, all wearing their orange NASA uniforms. “See Gramma?” He pointed at the tallest astronaut. “Like this. I want to be the COMMANDER.”
I left the room smiling, remembering some childish dreams of my own, some that never materialized; others that did, but not without some unexpected whacks on the side of the head—like the moment I heard the doctor say “cancer” or the day I passed out on the pavement and was diagnosed with heart failure. I realized that if I truly wanted to turn those long-held dreams into reality, I had better take action. I
In the years since I’ve been leading groups for cancer patients and others, I’ve been inspired—and humbled—by many individuals who’ve faced hardship or odds that might have easily deterred them from their dreams.
There was Ann, diagnosed with a rare, terminal cancer, who kept beating the odds and lived nearly six years longer than anyone expected. That period turned into one of the most creative of her life. She blossomed into an extraordinary poet, studying with masters like Ellen Bass, Jane Hirshfield, Dorianne Laux, and Tony Hoagland, among . A number of her poems were published in literary journals before her death—artistry borne out of hardship and crisis. She touched many of us with her grace and her spirit, manifested in her poems.
Two years ago, L., a recently retired physician, was a student in a creative nonfiction class I taught for UCLA extension Writers’ Program. She was writing a memoir—and what a story she had! When L. was newly married and just beginning a medical career, she was in a horrific accident, resulting in the loss both legs and an arm. While many of us may have felt our dreams dissolve in that moment, she was undaunted and determined to live a full life, continuing with her medical career, having a child, and, with her husband, continuing to travel and experience new adventures. A year after the course had ended, L. me a photograph of an expedition taken with her husband—it pictured her wheelchair at the top of Machu Picchu. Nothing, it seemed, could keep her from realizing her dreams.
I am in awe of L. and people like her, inspired by their determination and resilience to overcome enormous odds to turn dreams into reality. They help me put my life in perspective. Life hands us all tough times, unexpected losses or difficult challenges, ones that threaten to extinguish our hopes or dreams. “Don’t you know that you’re my hero,” Bette Midler sang. Ann, L. and so many others are my heroes. I keep L.’s photograph of her wheelchair atop Machu Picchu tacked to my bulletin board because it inspires me to try a little harder.
I tucked Nathan and his sister into bed again last night, as I’ve done since I arrived here. He clutched a small plastic replica of the Okinawa superhero, Mabuyer. “I have the power, Gramma,” he said, holding up the figure.
“Yes, buddy, I think you do,” I smiled.
I said goodnight, kissed his forehead, then left the room thinking that we should all be so lucky to “have the power.” Maybe then we’d never lose the determination to make our own dreams come true, no matter what obstacles we face in life.
Write about your dreams. When has life gotten in the way of them? What’s changed? What do you hope and dream for now?
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