Reach Out For Your Dream
I had a funny dream last night. I say funny because my dreams are usually a reflection of what's been going on in my subconscious.
I dreamt my maternal grandfather, who was also my godfather (I called him 'nannu Leli', short for Emanuel) was lying on a bed in one of those white on white hospital rooms and my mother and I had gone to visit him. He seemed weak, but the second he saw me he reached for something inside a black bag standing next to the bed on the floor and placed it in my hands.
It was one of those glass spheres filled with a transparent liquid and some obscure object stuck to the plastic base. My paternal grandmother had one when I was little, but it was one of those objects children could see, but not touch and although my fingers itched to do just that, I never dared. Maybe I should have. Those spheres always seemed to contain some kind of magic when you shook them a little and the snow started falling.
When I moved the the sphere my grandfather gave me in my dream, a shower of glittering particles filled the liquid and tears filled my eyes because I knew, without words, what he was trying to tell me: "Reach for your dreams, no matter what."
Only yesterday, I told my dearest friend Belle that I need to start working on my second book no matter how busy or preoccupied I am with real life. My writing dreams have taken a back seat lately through no fault of mine, but now it's time to shake off the dust and start polishing them to a shine.
Thank you grandpa
Amethyst
