Gossamer Dreams

Monarch butterflies are really remarkable things.  They lay their eggs on milkweed leaves.  They could choose any number of plants on which to start their families.  They choose milkweed because they know it's the perfect source of nutrition for their baby caterpillars.  Isn't that lovely?  Butterflies, creatures that appear to have a brain the size of a mustard seed, know exactly how to care for their babies.

When the caterpillar is born, it nurtures itself by eating its very home.  It does what it needs to do and focuses all of its attention on growing and caring for itself.  Then, (and this is really the most miraculous part) when it is ready, it rests.  I like to think that this is the contemplation phase.  It draws itself within and protects itself with a cocoon that it makes out of its own skin.  It literally turns itself inside out and then...  Just is.  It dissolves itself and reforms itself and does all of this quietly and within the privacy and protection of its cocoon.

After it has broken itself down to its very purest essence, it does the bravest thing ever.  It emerges from its safe, protective cocoon and takes its first flutters of flight.  It's fun to imagine that within the fat, roly poly caterpillar that lacks grace and finesse is a beautiful, fragile being that can move effortlessly in the breeze.  Given the right nourishment, time, and space, caterpillars can bravely be what they were always meant to be.

A butterfly my littlest lassie kept safe once upon a time ago.

At the moment, I feel myself entering my own phase of quiet contemplation.  I feel a desire to pull myself in and turn myself out and just be.  I want to break myself down to the very best bits of my being.  I long to feel the courage it takes to fly with fragile, gossamer wings toward whatever lies in my future.

The difference between me and monarchs is that I'm cursed with a brain that occasionally brings logic and, let's be honest, insecurity to the table.  "Yes, Sara," it says.  "Yes.  You want something more.  But, all those dreams cost money and take time and involve risk.  Those things are not for you."  It's a curious thing to feel so constrained by the life you've worked so hard to build.  The safety of this cocoon sometimes feels like a jail.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm lucky in so many ways, but in recent days I want more.  Not more stuff, but more opportunities to be truly me.

Part of this unrest in my soul is just how May goes.  When you are an educator, May is the month of winding down, getting tired out, and longing for something else.  We've taught all the things to this year's crop of little humans assigned to our care. We've all, kids included, exhausted all of the patience we have for one another's quirks.  This year is different because there is no school building and no little humans; just my computer screen with emails, photographs, videos, and virtual chat rooms.  Still, my soul knows. It knows that this is the time of year when I question, ponder, and dream. What could the next phase of my life bring if there were no barriers?  What could lie beyond the carefully constructed walls of my cocoon if I were brave enough to break free?

I have dreams...

I dream of becoming a certified play therapist so that I could be fluent in the language that so many of my students speak.

I dream of really diving in and learning yoga so that I can fully realize the power it could hold for my life.   I even dream of becoming so attuned to that process that I could teach others how to stretch their body to heal it.

I dream of building programs and processes and plans that could fully support the wellness of children, their families, and our community.

 I dream of writing a book or three.  I dream of having people transformed by my words just as so many authors have done for me. I dream of constructing a thought so beautiful and deep that it makes the core of another's soul vibrate and bring them to tears.

I dream of speaking to audiences in a way that builds connections and community. I dream that the words I utter help people truly know in their core that they are beautiful, loved, and seen.

I dream of drawing and painting for no one but myself. I dream of feeling the sweet accomplishment that creating art can bring.

I dream of reading every bit of poetry that was ever written. I dream giving each word and syllable the careful consideration it deserves so that I can truly understand the artfully condensed ideas that burst from the poet's pen.

I dream of planting things in the soil and knowing intuitively what to do to help each plant blossom and grow and thrive.

 I dream of a career that allows me to fully utilize all of my strengths unfettered. I dream of doing the next right thing for whomever I serving and not having to worry about the constraints that hold back creativity and innovation.

I dream of having all the minutes in all the days that I need to imprint in the brains of young children that they are deeply loved and cherished.

I dream.

It is in May that feel a longing to pull myself in, turn myself inside out, dream all the dreams, and then emerge as my true, whole self.  It is in May that feel called to let the most fragile, gossamer parts of my soul emerge and quietly take their place within the natural order.  It is in May that the hum drum, the must do's, and the mundane become unbearable.

I dream. I allow myself to take the dare to dream.  However, I never quite surrender to the process. I never fully turn myself inside out.  I don't quite break myself  all the way down.  Fear, responsibility, and insecurity keep the fragile bits of my soul hidden within the walls I've built my own self.

But still...  I dream.