I was having a recurring dream about change and my fear of it. While the details varied, the imagery was consistent and obvious.
I would find myself staggering by the edge of moving water, unsure of my surroundings, and only aware of my need to move on. My destination being unknown to me, it seemed I was driven only by my fear of slipping into the dark waters. My life depended on keeping moving. The dream would always end, of course, before I reached any destination. In fact, I believe there was no end to be reached, and yet, some force urged me up the rocky cliffs, balancing in semi-consciousness above turbulent shores.
After several of these dreams in one week, their relevancy was undeniable. From what fear was I retreating? While the current of life moved gracefully by, I remained clinging to the security of the stable shore, seeking some solace amongst a permanent background, searching for some resolve which I knew did not exist.
Waking early one morning, the symbolism became obvious. While I consciously anticipated the freedom that my impending college graduation would offer, something deep in my psyche shuddered at the emptiness of my future. For years I had looked forward to the end, but now the end had become the beginning; a cycle had been completed...
Later that day, after pondering over this realization, I jotted these lines in my notebook:
"As quickly as our dreams come true, new and better dreams are on the horizon. This is the curse of being human, but also wherein lies its glory."
The dreams discontinued, my insecurity had manifested itself, and I became depressed. By the end of winter, I could feel my old self dying slowly. Painfully I was shedding my skin. Each day I rose with less of an idea of who I was and a growing sense of the absurdity of my existence. The walls of my former life crumbled leaving me alone in the darkness of infinity. I was consumed by Sartre's Nausea, discouraged by my own freedom, and completely unsure of what would come next. I often looked at the lines in my notebook, recognizing truth in the paradoxical nature of human life, but somehow happiness escaped me.
As the weather grew warmer and spring approached, my thoughts directed themselves toward summer and the next issue of Nada which was beginning to take form. The dreams, like the depression of winter, fell further and further behind, until they were eventually forgotten. Only recently did I come across the lines I had written down, and in retrospect, it all finally made sense.
Human life runs in cycles. Like day and night, birth and death; existence is characterized by decay and triumph. Sometimes the sun shines brilliantly above, and other times the darkness is blinding. Sometimes we are in the river, flowing gracefully with the rhythm of the cosmos, at other times we scurry timidly on its rocky shores.
The key to contentment is patience and acceptance of each change as it unfolds. We are artists, and life is our canvas. Each has the freedom and responsibility to paint one's own picture of the world, one that is continually developing. Often this freedom is frightening, causing many to seek security in some illusion of stability or permanence. But this invariably leads to disappointment and frustration as we find ourselves trapped in the closet of our past, or longing for future possibilities. As a result, we forget the "here and now" and are gradually dislocated from the stillness of the present, reliving what we once were, or aspiring for what we will be, but hardly aware of what we are.
Some people live their entire lives never really finding satisfaction, accepting disillusionment as inevitable. Unfortunately we live in a society that fosters apathy. We are conditioned into psychic isolation, trapped within perceived limitations. But life is our unlimited stage. Said Camus, "If the living waters are elsewhere, why stay here?"
We must discover our niche, realize our salvation, and settle for nothing less than perfection.
- Spring, 1993
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