Everyone of us had dreams at some point in life to achieve something however minute or grand it seemed. I'm not sure about the rest of you, but I don't look at those as dreams. What I experienced were real ideas forming in my mind, sometimes in a blink of an eye - an A-ha moment. Perhaps for the purpose of metaphor people adopted the word dream since some of these ideas could appear too good to be true or be crystallized or maybe because they pass by so fast one barely gets a chance to plan them, or maybe because they seem too naive and infantile. To me, they are the fun projects of life; they can be projected; they can follow a projectile path along your daily activities and stand a chance. They are natural projects stemming from your guts without consulting you; they are an important conversation between your inner energy core and your body and mind. But what is it that prevents most of us from following up on that conversation? from starting and developing these projects?
Words of one of my all-time favorite authors Paulo Coelho untie this knot in simple words. I find his conclusions poignant. Suddenly I feel a spark to ignite the path of some old projectiles; maybe.
"The first symptom of the process of our killing our dreams is the lack of time. The busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The truth is, they are afraid to fight the Good Fight.
The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we don’t want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We look beyond the walls of our day-to-day existence, and we hear the sound of lances breaking, we smell the dust and the sweat, and we see the great defeats and the fire in the eyes of the warriors. But we never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those who are engaged in the battle. For them, neither victory nor defeat is important; what’s important is only that they are fighting the Good Fight.
And, finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life becomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. In that state, we think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. We are surprised when people our age say that they still want this or that out of life. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams – we have refused to fight the Good Fight.
When we renounce our dreams and find peace, we go through a short period of tranquility. But the dead dreams begin to rot within us and to infect our entire being.
We become cruel to those around us, and then we begin to direct this cruelty against ourselves. That’s when illnesses and psychoses arise. What we sought to avoid in combat – disappointment and defeat – come upon us because of our cowardice.
And one day, the dead, spoiled dreams make it difficult to breathe, and we actually seek death. It’s death that frees us from our certainties, from our work, and from that terrible peace of our Sunday afternoons"