Bottle of Dreams

I found a bottle on the shore.  It was old and worn and was a translucent teal color that enticed me to hold it to the sun to play the light.  I decided that this was the perfect vessel to carry and protect my dreams.  On paper I transcribed each one from a place of fancy etched within.  I prepped the bottle, slipped my dreams inside and carefully stoppered it, ensuring no water would ever leak in.  I took my bottle of dreams to the waters edge, said a silent prayer and freed my bottle of dreams to the care of Mother Ocean.  I sat and watched it float out with the tide.  Even after I could no longer see if I stayed and watched until the slack water.  Then I raised, brushed the sand off me and headed home.    

Days, weeks and finally years passed until my bottle of dreams was a mist.  The chores and mandates of life kept me from my walks on the shore and finally took me away to the cold sunless valleys of concrete.  I worked hard and harder still until I felt something suck out of me.  Then today when I could take it no more I left for the shore.  I breathed in the salt tanged air.  I took off my shoes and I started to walk barefoot again.  I combed the beach for its little treasures.  Every now and again something lying on the sand would warrant my investigation.  A shell with perfect symmetry or a rare bit of sea glass caused me to stoop and pick it up.  My mind wandered freely as I scanned the surface of the sand.  

I love the shore.  I love the frantic dance of sandpipers chasing prey on drying patches of sand as they move in and out with the waves.  I love the cacophony of those waves crashing mixed with hunting seabirds jostling for their position in flight.  It reminds me of the director-less warm up of an orchestra before a symphony, each instrument playing its own arrangement in one mass hall of noise.  But if one listens carefully, one could find the beautiful harmony in each arrangement and in the rhythm and sway of the ocean.  I wanted to dance to it on this endless ballroom of sand.  I continued to walk on, lifted by each note.  

A curiosity in the wet sand caught my eye.  I stubbed my big toe in the sand and tried to pry it up.  It was evident that it was too large and appeared to be a teal colored glass.  I knelt and began to dig until I fully recognized my precious bottle of dreams now encrusted with marine hitch hikers.  I held it up and tilted it to the sun and there was that paper still intact.  I wondered at those dreams I’d tucked inside so many years ago, left forgotten and undone.  I doubted I could remember but a few.  I was tempted to throw it back into the tides.  It did after all contain dreams of long ago.  Surely they were better left to float on with the tides of time.  

I paused in indecision and in thought as I looked out at the sea.  I did not know how long I stood there.  It was the bark of a dog and laughter that snapped me to and signaled I was no longer alone.  I decided then, more out of curiosity to take the bottle home with me.  With great care, nearing reverence I cleaned the sand from the bottle and dried it.  I cracked the seal and freed the old and swollen cork.  Finally, I upended the bottle to coax out the fragile rolled paper inside.  Immediately I recognized my scrawl as I smoothed and flattened it.  Breath caught as my hopes, my aspirations, my joys, my musings and my dreams flooded back to me.  

As I read I felt bits of kindling ignite and revive a flame of hope.  I still wanted to do this and that “and why on Earth have I never done that?”  I thought about my old crunchy bones and then heard a ”PSHAW!” from my lips.  There was no reason sound enough, only excuses.  I began to plot and plan the items listed on the paper.  I didn't choose the easy ones first; I chose the ones I had dreamed of most.  They had the most power and they burned brightest inside of me.  I began to feel light and giddy with excitement.  

Later that evening I paused to ask myself why I had tucked those dreams in a bottle so many years ago.  I had not intended to throw them away.  I knew they would be safe there and I wanted to cast them to the world so that I might go after them.  But then I forgot about my dreams and I let living take over and pilot MY journey.  I allowed work demands and money to rob me of holidays and vacations and time with my family.  The more I gave, the more it demanded.  No, there was no time for dreams and in reality precious little time even for sleep.  It is rather a cruel realization to find that in the end all of that time is taken for granted.  The machine is simply happy to swallow your soul.  

But there is this gift that was deposited long ago.  It was from me, intended for me.  I had no idea that all this time it was being safely cared for by Mother Ocean.  She sent me her messenger today, the tide and brought this precious bottle of dreams back to me.  Here it is, laid at my feet.  What I choose to do from this day on is mine.  I smash the old rhetoric and let it fall away.  Instead I lift up every word, every dream written on this paper.  I say a new prayer of hope and I embrace them all.  They are mine.