Lately, my dreams have taken on a vivid clarity, each detail etched into my memory. From the minutiae to the grand tapestry, emotions, temperatures, and everything in between—the dreamscapes form a lucid realm. In one such dream, I glimpsed a future, a village where we chose surroundings in harmony with our souls.
My dreams, I believe, hold significance, much like yours do. They weave together thoughts, emotions, archetypes—reflecting what we are aware of and even those hidden corners of our minds. These dreams bridge imprints of the present, echoes of the past, and the tapestries of our desires.
Yesterday evening, Tony and I ventured into a conversation about hope. His question lingered: "Is hope an expectation?" Personally, I've never been deliberate about hope; it often seems like a fleeting sensation, grasped when other footholds vanish. Hope and I share a tenuous relationship—lacking action, it feels somewhat apathetic.
As for its connection to expectation, I view hope as a sort of deliberate innocence. It anticipates positive change, an anticipation tied to an outcome. At this juncture, however, hope eludes me. It's a sentiment tethered to imprints of the past, pattern recognition leading to the most plausible result. Yet, the situation before me doesn't warrant such hope. Consequently, my body, mind, and soul withhold it.
This isn't to suggest that the situation's outcome is unfavorable. Sometimes, hope is bestowed; other times, progress necessitates alternative routes. I've exhausted the concept of hope; for me, it has consistently intertwined with despair. A fleeting, cyclic sentiment—this is the essence of hope.
So, what do I feel instead? Resolve courses through me, coupled with courage and love.