Recently I’ve been fathoming this possibility of life being one long dream, ending when death takes you and you find yourself waking in your mamas arms as a day old baby, ready to live it all out.
I have been swept into an epic romance with earthly existence. A plane ride from Chicago to Denver and I might as well have been scooped up by Peter Pan and flown to Neverland.
3 weeks since landing and here with my fellow lost boys and girls and my life has shifted from being hazily planned to a gigantic pallet of paints bursting with color just waiting to be splattered onto a creamy canvas!
One challengingly glorious mountain hike to 12,500+ feet combined with Lindy Hopping till thighs scream smushed in with canning 15 boxes of peaches and not to leave out waking up to chilly droplets rolling down cheeks, cheering on the small-town football team in British accents, the many enjoyable pees in the desert while taking in the mountain range equals my personal paradise.
Loved ones make me laugh till I’m doubled over with agony in my tumbly and jubilation is exploding in my heart. And I cry, I sob and weep at dinner, longing for those far away.
How can these experiences not be a dream? What did I do to deserve the exact life I always hoped to have?
I fear waking. I would like to live in this Neverland until…
Given I am not a master of lucid dreaming I surrender to let this dreamlike reality unfold as it will and strive to appreciate the holy shit out of the adventure!
