…is a dream dead. How strange it is that in its realization, a dream may bring sorrow. Man can not live without a dream to pursue. Even the most passionless of individuals has a burning coal roiling within them.
And so it goes that the greater the dream, the more distant and “impossible” (is there ever such a thing?), the better the dream. Our dreams press us to strive higher and higher. But once it is realized, there is often found a void, an emptiness. So it may be that these “impossible” (again, nothing is truly impossible) dreams are the best for the longer they persist, so long as we continue to strive for it and not give up, are the best for they are not realized.
I have often said that we should not keep our eyes on the distance nor on the ground below our feet, but on our next step; we should not miss the flowers for the dirt nor the mountain. Yet, that is incomplete. I do that much of the time, but more often than not, I am found staring at the skies. Ma foi, why would I settle for the flowers when I might have the stars? My hands may never touch them, grasping the flowers instead (though I advocate not picking them), but they wink at my spirit, catching for but a moment their empyrean glimmers.
There is something to be said of this in regards to dreams. Find dreams to be had, but also those for which realization is unlikely. It may be that I will never be held amongst the greatest writers of all time, but by God, and His gift within, I will strive to that end. But I will also dream of the more limiting pleasure of a single published book. Indeed, we may have both the flowers and the stars, but if we must choose, we ought choose the heavens.
We can not let our dreaming end. Once we have realized one dream, we must have another one ready to replace it. Our dream realized may have ended, but our dreaming, never.