Categories
Childrens non-fiction

The Truth About Santa Claus

Moist tremors awoke me a few moons ago. An abrupt awakening removed from our awareness of our own body, from the life we have built at a time when only the soul stridulates in the arms of an imagined dream or a nightmare, is alarming. At that hour when your mind hasn’t bound to your human body, and you jump back into it, a question percolates: for how long? How long do you have in your body, which enables you to kiss those you so love for so short? A rude reminder echoes that one day our life will end without knowing how deep the separation or the memory. You coax yourself that it was just a nightmare, only a night, and after you lull yourself to sleep, a new day will begin. It does.

And then I tell my children what I tell myself: I don’t know if they exist: Santa Claus or tooth fairies or any magical creatures they believe. But it isn’t until the darkness of the inky blind night you force yourself to ponder on life on the other side, the unseen world. Our life is a speck in the spectrum of the unknown. The unseen is more than us. So, maybe Santa Claus is real. Maybe fairies fill the eternal world. Life on Earth is attached to our bodies for a limited time. We live at different times, but memories carry, or so we hope. There has got to be magic if there is God. So why not Santa Claus?

I don’t lie to my children anymore that unseen is unreal. It is more permanent than real. Dreams are true.

My forthcoming book, House of Milk and Cheese (originally Land of Dreams), is about such dreams, unseen but unrealized, that need a fight, first to believe, then to realize. Stay tuned at www.bookofdreams.us for more on its release. If you subscribe , you enter a raffle for a chance of a free copy during the book launch.

Previous blogs on the Book Launch Series: The World Behind Words

The Boy With a Strange Hat

Myriams-Fotos image from Pixabay 

Categories
Poetry

Take Me Away

When I was young I used to dream
To will it to happen for real
Else a wretched miserable life forever

Now that I am old I dream
But reality isn’t the idea any more
It’s the idea that’s important

When I was young I used to believe
Dreams must come true
Else it is all a waste

Now that I am old I don’t dream that way
All that matters is to believe again
In the goodness that exists, if not around
Somewhere sure as heck for real

For that that is hard to endure
I now dream to believe again
That fairies exist and heaven exists

When I was young I used to pen my dreams on paper
I would gladly seal with red ink stamp
Under my hearts stiff dictator rule

Now, the night I dream I dance away
Like a flower floating in the morning wind
For lucky are those that can dream of heaven
When chaos is ambient as far as eye can see

I wish I could will to dream
But my friend plays the elusive game with me
And when it stops to visit
I hold the thought in deep embrace

Lived too long and seen too much
I seek to forget in my dream’s refuge
Unshackle me, my old friend
I am ready, now take me away!

Categories
fiction Poetry

The Murmur of a Silent Heart

Dreams are but vapors of a passing downpour
The rustling from a vibrating tree
The murmur of a silent heart
That speaks to no one, shows its face to nobody

Dreams are but figments of reality
Bits of truth garbled in a cloud
Not what you can touch or hear
Aliens the world embraced as real

The fresh scent of wet grass
the aroma of violet wild flowers
the tickle from a gentle breeze
You think of me, and I weep in delight

Our worlds collide, we crash and burn
Wake up and you are not there again.
Ah, another dream it must be
The world we conjured up in disguise

Replayed, edited, reframed and reimagined
Craftsmanship of a directorial debut
Of a habitual dreamer
Walking in another’s shoes

Dreams are messages from another world
That exists but for you
It is yours to annihilate or adorn
Yours to cherish or loathe

Categories
non-fiction

Why it is Vital to Fail?

We are fast learners. Little setbacks instill quick and easy lessons. For instance in the life of a student, they learn how to prepare for any exam counter intuitively.

“Read the physics book from the first year BSc (Bachelor of Science) program,” advised a fellow hard worker in 12th grade once.

He had learned that his physics professor chose questions ahead of grade and to really crack the exam, we all not only had to peruse through our fat physics book, but sometimes skip portions of it and just reach for that book from university. After all, how important is hard work, if your score is still mediocre?

We wake up each day, hop out of bed, clean up and go to work. Why?

“I have to put my kid through college” once replied a coworker of mine, answering an innocent question of mine (Why are we here?) in the context of a big picture.

We were feverishly occupied with a “do-or-die” issue, way past sunset. Doom was written on each face. We were the unwilling participants of the steep demise of our day. Our loved ones were told to not wait for us for supper that night. We had failed but yet not allowing ourselves to fail. We were busy putting in all the fixes, all the measures to be able to deploy before daybreak a feature our customer yet hadn’t felt love for.

Without failing, we sustained endlessly. A little bandage would fix a little leak. What was needed instead was an epic failure, one that halts your life, changes your lifestyle and makes you ask yourself the question, “Dummy, what are you doing in your life?!”

That reset is terribly important!

My childhood was one of being fiercely sheltered by my parents. Now, a mother of two, I observe I shelter my kids just as I shelter myself out of an age-old experience.

There is a cost associated with a lack of failure. I feel success of certain magnitude warrants failure of a certain magnitude as well. Because both succeeding and failing catastrophically reside in the same place of risk taking.

When J.K. Rowling was writing Harry Potter, she was a single parent, and had no money. She did not have heat in her apartment, so would write in a cafe. She was rejected 12 times before a small London house picked up “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.” But what if she had settled for less? I do not mean succumbing to the 12 rejections, I mean she did just the usual – wake up, pay bills, sleep and avoid the possibility 12 or more failures?

Fail instead to rise to a better place. Chase your dreams like a fanatic. Do not let another day burn itself away. And, if you find yourself failing hard, remind yourself that victory may be so close as long as you do not give up. Brush off the dust, stand tall again and do it all over again.

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