A dream of life and light

Washing the dust of centuries off my window I discovered anew the brilliant blueness of the sky, and I began to dream and dance, feeling the cluttered space called “home” is not big enough to hold the soul of a daydreamer and the grace of sunlight dancing tiptoed across a floor covered in dust-bunnies scared of brutally honest daylight.

At night I felt the darkness of the city closing in, not the darkness caused by the absence of light but rather the antonymic omnipresence of shallow light and screens  and neon signs leaving no place for the magic of stories told in the dark. So I filled a jar with colourful lights myself and put up a tiny cardboard sign, “here be fireflies”, and I danced to music nearly as old as myself and pretended the room was adjacent not to street lamps and rows upon rows of three-story houses but to open fields and grass covered paths leading to creaky doors hiding more rooms holding wonder and bold dreams instead of the plastic-shaped pieces of cheap and short-lived idols of these dreams.

For a moment I could believe that dancing and dreaming would be enough for creating one night of tidal waves sweeping away all the speechless artefacts of a culture with nothing new to tell, but when I opened the eyes of my inner child again, all the heaps of rubble covered in the blood of dying hearts had remained in streets wandered by screen-chained ghosts and surrounded by beauty robbed of attention and pure-minded admiration.

Still, every now and then I meet someone, most of the time a child, who is not yet oblivious to the magic of the beauty in between and who might be willing to learn the art of dreaming away the gangrenous layers of one-use happiness and purchasable instant status covering the fresh, green part of our society still pulsing with true hopes and a hunger for life stripped of needless weights and surrounded by open windows.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “A dream of life and light

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s