It’s Been Awhile Since I’ve Dreamed This Much

Today the sun came up, painted the landscape golden, and brought with it the brilliant light of morning. I woke up, got out of bed, and opened the window shades. Outside was another typical ordinary morning.

I haven’t been sleeping much these past few days, yet it has been a while since I have dreamed this much. Summoned by abstract dreams and sirens calling with empty promises, I realized that one must never lock up something that they wished to see thrive. As I looked out the window a finch landed on the windowsill edge. He was truly something to observe, so small and fragile; innocently hopping around, going about his morning routine as he always does every morning.

I always write in the brilliant light of the morning, yet I don’t know what to say the remainder of the day.

I threw up my sails and let the four winds carry me through the sea of life, unsure of which direction I would travel, further unsure of where I would end up. White noise, as I surrender up my body as the artist awakens, I think I’m going to cry. Feeling my time is short, living in silence for far too long, observing life from a distance, but nothing ever changes when you view it from the sky; one accepts the damage and the wreckage as earth just passes by.

There was one moment forever lost in time, a snapshot resurfacing of long ago when I was a child. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and seated at a table was Allen Ginsberg. A pot gently boiling on the stove behind him, his lunch a simple one, though his eyes were clearly keen and focused upon several perfectly aligned stacks of white pages of poetry and written prose sitting on the table. He would spend several minutes meticulously organizing these stacks as I patiently waited, moving those pages into many different orders, as if he were trying to solve some a puzzle. As the stacks slowly merged into one large stack, he retrieved a cardboard box from underneath the table, carefully and expertly aligning the pages into a uniform brick, before gently sliding the compendium into its container.

When Allen was finished, he took a deep breath, letting out a long and satisfying sigh of relief, folded his hands upon the table, smiled, and gazed to the ceiling. He didn’t notice me at first until several moments had passed and he became satisfied with the moment of silence.

Then all of a sudden, his eyes adjusted to the change in distance and he gazed into my eyes as I was transfixed as I watched the master at his craft. Allen invited me to sit at the table across from him and he began to speak to me about what I wanted to do with my life. He took out a sheet of blank typing paper and with a sharpened pencil began to scribble down some notes. Adjectives, descriptions, words, and little bits of the contents of his head and narratives of current events. I didn’t know it at the time, but Allen was indeed training his young apprentice in the writing trade. With his tired and elderly hands, he slowly and gently slid the paper across the smooth and dark polished surface of the antique kitchen table, and encouraged me to read it. I was lost at the time, not realizing until decades lather that this technique inspired me to write, and gave me the critical practice of keeping a writing notebook. His dreams had all come to fruition, his life had a purpose.

I do not know that which I truly possess, nor its value and importance until it is gone. I don’t know whom to love until after they are lost forever. And I don’t know how I should feel until long after the moment has passed.

Allen was a legend. Now I am a legend.

The header image, American Tune Book, was taken in 2016. The second to last paragraph was originally a quote.

They Came And Wrote Things Down On Paper | It Came Without Warning | Here Stood My Dreaming Tree | A Little Ghost For The Offering | Belong | All Things All At Once | I Almost Dedicated My Life To Writing | Is Writing Down Your Random Thoughts Truly Random? | Summoned To The Far Reaches Of My Mind | The Beat Goes On: How Allen Ginsberg Inspired Me As A Writer | I’m A Dreamer


  • Prince

    Most times we don’t know whom to love until after they are lost foreve, that’s just how we are wired. We always don’t want sweet dreams to end. Likes longing for next season

  • Wilson Jake

    Alien was truly a legend, helping you come to your true self. Its feels lonely to lose people like this. Dreams might not go the way we wanted atimes.

  • Brain

    Definitely, a legend must train another would-be legend, so that when he or she is long gone another legend takes the place.

  • Susi R

    It’s better to be late to realize than not at all. An interesting story where from that moment you get a technique that has provided inspiration in writing.

  • Meldred Judith

    The most important thing is realizing something. It doesn’t matter if it took you a long time to realize it.

  • Alex

    As they say each day is an opportunity to realize something or even to start over. As the saying goes you only live once however, tou will always have a new day ahead.

  • jolly555

    Here you are living your life on your own terms. It will be great to have that personality you only crave for. This is what I see about you.

  • conrad pranze villas

    Everyday is a new experience. Our road is still being built, we just need to be patient and vigilant of the things going around us.

  • Janine Bocateja

    You always amaze me with your personality Tom. All of us has great desires in life and I hope I will reach mine.

  • David Tjoe

    You always have an interesting story from your life experience to tell here. I really enjoyed reading it.

  • Patricia

    The best part is that you managed to identify what you love and pursued it. That’s something not many people get to achieve.

  • Oliver

    That was a very elaborate dream and you penned it down amazingly well. It is very symbolic of your talent in poetry.

  • Teddy

    It takes a special person to dream about something they enjoy doing. You were destined to be a writer and a poet.

  • Mariz Tina Mispeñas

    When a bew day comes, it means a new beginning. You start the day with what you feel first and have that emotion for the rest of your day. But you looked up to that one person who is now your inspiration of beung who you are.

  • Greg Dyer

    We sometimes do not have an idea about the person we love. We want our desires and dreams to carry on in the time to come.

  • Glad

    Dreams are a replay of our thoughts and sometimes desires. You may have dreamt of it but you being a legend can be achieved in reality. I wish you the best in achieving your dreams.

  • Oyeyipo Oladele

    Dreams becomes good when they yield expected results in real life. Dreams can be replay of your though or display of what is about happening in the nearest future.

  • Maury Cheskes

    I can see how Allen had such a big effect on you. Love the story and its vivid detail. Thanks for sharing.

  • Janice E

    You know if ever you plan on writing a novel I would definitely read it. You’re ability to share a story is exquisite. I can imagine myself in the scene and actually immersed in the situation. Do consider though! Or perhaps more short stories if that’s something on your alley.

  • Bruce B.

    Forgive me for believing in horoscopes and omens, I know a lot of people are particular with being objective. But perhaps the dream is something that is reflective about something that will happen to you in the near future? There’s nothing wrong with claiming it! I am rooting for you Tom!

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