Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Dream Anatomy, Or the Hope of Loved-Up Hearts

The fear of suffering is worse
than the suffering itself.
No heart has ever suffered
when it goes in search of its dream.
-Paulo Coelho

I have this picture in my mind: that - one day - I will retire to the porch of a little farm house. The wind will blow and the grasses will sway and I'll hum and strum a guitar and flop my dusty, bare feet over the side of a chair and swing them to the beat. An apple pie will bake in the oven and quilts will wave on the clothesline. Children will scale trees and play tag and feed horses. There will be music and games and laughter. There will be fluffy beds and bedtime prayers and warm fires. There will be lullabies and Sunday lunches and midnight walks under star-splattered skies. There will be Christmas trees and family recipes and full tummies and loved-up hearts.

Places like this pull at me in a way I can hardly describe. This is somewhere in Kansas - far west Kansas hugging the Colorado line - and I blew by it yesterday only to make a sharp u-turn and end up right back in front of it, staring. The wind through the grass sounded like whispering - all around me - and the house itself seemed to sigh with stories and memories of decades well lived.

I don't just like old houses, apparently. I like sad old houses. I like the promises they keep and the possibilities they hold, if only someone would love them again.

I'd come close to giving away my world for a place like this. It sits, I noticed, about two miles down the road from a Mennonite community. (Is that what they're called: communities?) They don't get any more peaceful than this. At night I close my eyes and dream about the serenity and the satisfaction a place just like this would afford. I think of how busy and stressed and tired we all are. How our finances and relationships and health and time are all pushed to their limits. How - if we could just get our families back together and our priorities in perspective and our stuff... our debt-inducing junk... cast aside - how relieved and content we might all be.

Hmm. These are the things I think as I'm driving. These are the hopes my heart suffers as I live my dream for right now....

And that is the amazing thing about dreams, isn't it? The fear of not living your dream is worse than not actually living your dream. And the fear of reaching your dream and meeting disappointment is foolish. For dreams, once you come upon them, spark and split in two, leaving you with the piece finally realized and the start of a whole new dream just waiting to begin.

(By the way, Barbara said she read this and immediately thought of the poem The House With Nobody In It. Love that.)

12 comments:

Utah Grammie said...

This is just lovely - I thought I was the only one who saw sad old houses and thought "they need someone to LOVE them" - knowing I could be that person..if only... Thanks for taking us on your journey. May you find peace and a bubble bath!
Blessings,
Colleen

Anonymous said...

i've read this several times and think its my favorite post of yours, just beautiful. simple and poetic like your spirit. i admire you more with each dayy and love just being here on your blog.
you will make a very wonderful family some day. lucky blessed them!!! connie

Heather said...

I love your post!! I,too, love old houses and always wonder about their story!!
I feel like I am on this fun trip with you and it will be exciting to find out where it leads :)

Rox said...

I am really loving this.....

I could almost feel the breeze when I read this post....

Roxanne

Terri and Bob said...

I love sad, old houses too, but I think it is because these houses are built with love and promise and now it seems that those are all lost.

betty r said...

I'm in on that one too...I love old houses and barns..I wonder about who lived there and what their dreams were and why they left.
Lead on Brin, so far I'm loving the journey with you even if I don't know where I am going!

Haus Frau said...

What a lovely post, Brinn. I'm enjoying this road trip with you. :o)

ajinman said...

WOW - My heart ached for the things you described. And you brought the picture to my mind so vividly of a lazy summer day with nothing to do but just be in the moment. I love old houses, old furniture, old pictures, old jewelry; I love thinking about the people that they use to belong to and what their lives were like. I love the whole romantic mystery of it all. Thank you so much for sharing bits of your heart. Drive on – I am so anxious to see what will happend next on this amazing journey you are taking us all on. God Bless you Brin and be safe.

April C said...

"How - if we could just get our families back together and our priorities in perspective and our stuff... our debt-inducing junk... cast aside - how relieved and content we might all be."

Isn't that the most basic truth of it all? If we would set aside all the stuff we *think* we want and hold tight to the only things we really do *need*, we would be relieved and content. Thanks for the reminder to hold the only things that are important and to let nothing else have a hold on us.

Patricia said...

Love your photos ~ so beautiful & peaceful & with a story to tell. If only we'll sit awhile & listen. I, too, am drawn to old barns & buildings that just beg to be loved. Blessings!

Sue said...

Brin, I feel just like that, love the old, sad houses, with dreams of saving them, restoring them and loving them! I can see why you had to make a u-turn for this place, it's just amazing, like you!

Vee said...

As always, your words touch a chord in me. Thank you for finding the time to write!