No Place for Fantasies

I have learned again recently that my fantasies - even the 'good' ones - are dangerous. Human beings were made to live in the world of the Now; the world of the Might Be was given as a gift for us to exert our will on the Now. If we start livign in the Might Be, the Now degrades, becomes less important, and ultimately less real. Then we get disillusioned with the Now because it isn't so fantastic.

I must constantly remind myself not to dream but to do. The life I am living is so much more than any fantasy world could be, and I don't want to cheapen it by dreaming of a life more comfortable and less fulfilling. I heard a funny quote on TV recently: "We had something like movies on my planet a few hundred years ago, but they lost popularity when people realised their real lives were more interesting."

If I feel without direction, it's only because I've been looking for direction in my own imaginings. I am learning more and more that my instincts place me on the right path. I don't know the way ahead, but I feel it. It fits like a glove, and the familiarity is sometimes scary. Maybe my own dreams are just a facade erected to stand in the way of my path ahead. Maybe the sacrifice of my dreams will let me realise the dreams I want but can't dream.

I wonder, what is it about my future that cannot be revealed for fear of me melting down under it? I think this is the reason, I feel this is the reason. There's something on my future...

Isn't It Funny...

Isn't it funny how our subconscious actions speak more of our deepest emotions than we could ever hope to express? I've been packing - for the last few days actually - and when I was packing my bedside drawers I discovered soemthing strange: every letter I'd received from a certain friend (or friends I suppose you could say; they're married now and I never distinguished between the two as separate people) for the past year has been carefully opened, carefully put back in its envelope, and put in my otherwise unused top drawer.

The realisation that I had done this - and the subsequent unlocking of feelings - is challenging me to the core and I don't know why. Is it just because we're cut from the same stone? Is it because each other's tragic story is the same? Sometimes I feel like I am a horrible friend, because I would give anything to help him through his hard times but I'm stuck here, 500km away. Is that the truth? What do I do with a friendship that strikes a chord in the soul? What do I do when it's 500km distant?

even now as I sit here, just realising how important this nearly wordless friendship, this silent comradeship facing life together, has been to me... I wonder. What will become of it? Will I have other friends like him? The tears flood, but not from uncertainty. They flood from a place I haven't known for a long time, because I finally realise what it means, and why it's hurt me when I hit these hard times alone.

For now I will be content that one day, my friend, our struggles will be over... and then we shall stand triumphant together in Heaven.