Opening boxes and unearthing old documents, C. came across this paragraph he had typed up at least a decade ago about the home he dreamed of living in one day:
"There will be the sounds of people laughing and singing. Music from many distant lands will emanate from the stereo; the unknown will be embraced, and differences will be respected. There might be the sound of babies crying, but they will be comforted, and no one will be aggrieved for their sleep having been disturbed. Flowers will grow in window boxes but yardwork will not be compulsory. 'I love you' will be heard frequently and without irony. Mud will be tracked across the floor and life will go on. People will dance and hug and kiss each other openly, without shame. Things will break, and they will be repaired with good humor, not with furious anger. There will be garlic and incense and other strange sme;lls. Tools will be lost and replaced without comment. Misunderstandings will occur, arguments will ensue, and people will apologize and forgive each other with expressions of tenderness and compassion. Sex will be understood to be a desirable, normal and necessary part of life. People will not be told they are unloved, and acceptance and approval will not be rationed. Images crudely drawn but profoundly beautiful will be tacked up on the walls. The reading and writing of poetry will be commonplace, and the shelves will overflow with books and penciled music manuscripts. Gatherings will be held and adventuresome cuisine will be served. Smiling strangers will bring forth unusual musical instruments and we will all play together, well beyond our bedtimes."
The paragraph reflected the vision he had about the kind of life he wanted to co-create with smeone, but at the time he wrote it, he had no idea how to do that. It seemed almost impossible that he would ever be able to find or make that happen. How strange and wonderful to find ourselves, ten years later, living in just the kind of situation he describes, smells of garlic, mud tracked in, foreign foods and music and even David's baby daughter sometimes; I love you's and apologies freely offered and accepted, much laughing and teasing and physical affection, room for creativity, sensuality, mistakes and risks and humanness.
It is a miracle, especially considering that it's a vision that we had to make together out of imagination and tenderness and need and yearning--and that we have and are. A daily miracle.
And, as i tell my students--be careful what you ask for, especially when you write it down. Writing is magic. Words create the energy that beget the reality. There is a place in the dream world where the yearnings of the heart meet the creative function of the soul and they conceive a new life.