Against the Grain

There's something so special about looking at something old. A headboard made of wood, shined and cleaned to it's best at this date, holding the stories within its smudges and knots. So simple yet so complex with it's ridges bound tightly together. It's odd to think that the wood of this frame was grown for years upon years together, almost as a family, and now it's here. Stained and shiny, years of use holding stories upon stories as it has so warningly sat above the heads of dreamers.

'You need not to climb mountain tops, you need not to cross the sea. You need not to find a cure for everything that makes you weak. You need not to reach for the stars when life becomes so dark, and when the wind does blow against the grain, you must follow your heart'

I find it interesting that the deeper and more silently you sleep, the more vivid the dream. These are the dreams that are hard to shake. These are the nights it's harder to wake...then, we you finally do...everything seems a little different. As if you have already lived what you dreamed, real friends, real things, real life. It has shaped the world you now live in. Not tangible, just a little odd and fuzzy.

'When all your friends have come and gone and the sun no longer shines. And the happiness for which we long is washed away like an oceans tide. When all the hard times outweigh the good, and all your words are misunderstood, when the day seems lost from the start-you must follow your heart.'

The day goes about with images of that dream washing in and out of your mind much like the waves of an ocean, yet you can't wash them away. They are real to you. They happened. Still...the tangible life must continue.

'If you feel you've paid the price and the wounds just cease to heal and everything you love in life spins like a winding wheel. If you should wake to find you're abandon and the road you travel leads to a dead end and death creeps in to play it's part-you must follow your heart.'

But the long day will come to an end when the comfort of that knotted wooden headboard will offer a place for those dreamers. This, is home. This is where the dreams become tangible. The real, because, it is real to you, so it must be true-right? The stories will unfold into the folds and crevasses of the wood. They can climb mountain tops, they can cross the sea, find cures for everything that makes those weaker. Stars can be reached at all costs and when the wind does blow against the grain...the heart will be followed. The dreamers heart will be followed to what is true and what is real.