a new start and dreams

by Rain Trueax

We are in a new year and it's a time when many make resolutions or create vision or storyboards for what they want the year to look like. For many, 2020 was a year that seemed to destroy dreams. How do we plan what we want with a pandemic raging? Will some who lost their jobs with lock-downs ever get them back? What will happen as the political agendas change? It's unknown territory and mostly out of our control. Shouldn't we concentrate instead on our personal lives? Can't we figure out what we want, decide if what we have in our life suits us?

For some, who live long enough, we have to rework who we are again and again in life. When we are children, parents and society control a lot of our lives. Then we become adults and can make choices-- if we can afford them. Along comes middle age. Did we do what we wanted? Can we change it? There are choices of having children or not, careers, home locations, religions, politics, and on it goes.

In 2000, I wrote what I saw as my ideal day. The idea was focus on it and you will get it. Christ taught to believe and you will receive. A popular book, The Secret, came along later with much the same view. I  recently looked back on that ideal day of 20 years ago and thought-- why didn't I get it? Would it have been the wrong thing for my life? 

Part of it was a reality already. I painted and sculpted and wrote. At that time, being an indie writer wasn't a possibility but as soon as that opened up in 2012, for me, I went for it. I purposely left the name of the man out that day, as it was the relationship, not the name that mattered. The woman friend likewise represented my desire to have female friends in my life. It mattered their interests but not who they were.

The life I have today is very different, but maybe it's what I couldn't have imagined all those years ago. As an old woman, can I re-imagine again a different one ahead? That's the magic of life-- we don't know. (I should add it wouldn't be that one from 20 years ago. Different ages lead to different dreams).

Describing my ideal Day~~ written January 17, 2000 D

I wake with the light and lie in bed a few moments as I remember my dream. It was vivid, full of color and life. I was loving a man, feeling his touch, his embrace, his kiss... The dream and reality blend together. Has my lover been with me before in a Western time when he was on the run and we were having to stay apart because of the danger to both himself and me? Cannot know. I think of whether this could make a book and before I forget, jot down notes for later consideration.

I rise and dress in jeans and flannel shirt, boots and heavy socks and pull on a heavy coat to go outside for a few moments to embrace the morning. The air is crisp and clear. I see my breath in front of my face as I walk down to the barns. They are below the log home and there are two horses inside waiting for flakes of hay. I know the man has been here, but I like to go also.

I stretch my legs into a quick stride as I walk a couple of miles for exercise. My thoughts are full of plans but also enjoying the quiet of the morning. It feels good to walk along this dirt road, to hear the vast silence, see a little snow on the hills above me, a hawk soaring in the distance against the crystal blue sky.

Back in the house, I fix breakfast, click on the computer in the kitchen as I glance at the news, and decide on which of my projects to work. There is a sculpture, painting and book in various stages. The painting and sculpture are for a small gallery a few hundred miles away, and the book for a publisher. It provides enough income to live simply. 

 

I choose the soul painting because my passion is high. I need time with color, light and motion. The dream is still restless within me. I am eager to see my painting take life, to watch it fill the canvas and become a statement about all I am experiencing as I learn more and more about Spirit and how it can fill my days and me with love. 

The man returns. He is cold and fills the room with the smell of early morning, of juniper and grass. When he kisses me, I melt into him, feel the oneness I had never known until he came into my life. He sips his coffee, talking as I paint. He doesn’t need to see my work and is full of his own plans. We separate as he goes off for his day and I continue in mine.

A woman, who lives half a mile down the road, drops by and we drink tea and spend an hour discussing the latest problems in the gallery and her own book.

One of my kids calls and we talk about what is going on with their life. They are doing well and although we don’t live close, we exchange energy and the love is always there as we give each other the freedom to follow our own paths.

By evening I am ready to start dinner. I cook light Italian, happy to think the man will be back to enjoy it. I pour a small glass of wine and sip as I chop vegetables and sauté the chicken. I think how blessed I am to have this life, to be living the dream I only imagined for so many years.

When he returns, we have dinner by candlelight. The house is not large, only two bedrooms and the furniture not fancy but rustic, but the feeling is full of warmth and music. A fire is in the small corner fireplace and candles light the table. He tells me of what he did during the day, and we talk about the latest political situations.

In the evening we sit and listen to music, cuddled in front of the fireplace. That doesn't last long as we stoke fires within ourselves and make love in front of the fire. This man is my soul mate. He is the one I have dreamed of and for this moment I have him with me... If only for the day...

All of these paintings are imaginary and digital when I was doing a lot more of those. The story also was imaginary or maybe it is the essence of every one of my romance novels-- the relationship, the power the heroine has to be strong in her own right. Maybe it happened but not as I had thought it back in January 2000.