Shattered Dreams

A dream is an aperture, a window unto the world. Gazing out, everything seems so clear, so evident. There is life, perceived to be whole and complete, just before us. We see all. All that we desire, all which we seek, is there, there for the taking. Or so it seems.

And then it shatters.

Dreams are fragile, delicate. The slightest bump, the lightest rap at the wrong angle, or place, or moment in time and our dream, our window unto the world, explodes in a silvery spiderweb of chaos. Broken. Destroyed. Never to be again.

The world now viewed is all askew, a child's kaleidoscope gone mad. Fractures split reality from reality, certain from certain, hopes from life. Nothing is sure, all is incomplete. Snowflakes drifting in the wind have more order, rain blown in the torrent more direction than the future we perceive. There is no reason. There is no hope.

Until we see the truth.

The truth of dreams is just that; they are only dreams. They are not real nor reality. Dreams are the future for which we hope, not the future that must be. If the future ended with every shattered dream, there would be no future at all.

Beyond every shattered dream lies another, and another, and another. Without end they are lined up to eternity, waiting to be imagined. A chosen few will come to be, undergoing that fantastic metamorphosis from dream to reality. Most will not. Many should not. Myriads must remain just as they are. Dreams.

In your future lies a dream waiting to be realized. Before you can see it, dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of inferiors must be shattered to reveal the one which is yours for the taking, the one which God has ordained.

That is the truth.

Your dream is there.

Waiting to be imagined.