The Messengers Of A Dream's Promise

Don't you think it's wonderful how different eyes can see different things in the same thing? They say it's called perspective. Imagination on the other hand... Is a far more interesting and complicated dimension!  So the other day I was scrolling on Facebook when I stumbled upon this challenge. It had this picture and it said  "give it a back story".  I liked the idea, so I thought "why not? let's give it a go!". Here is what my imagination came up with...! If you have your own back story, let me know about it! Mine goes like this: 

"One day, I was doing research about medicinal herbs in the public library when a strange, little book caught my attention. It seemed to be some sort of a vintage, old looking diary, but instead of confessions, it contained a wide collection of folklore tales from different civilizations around the world illustrated with beautiful sketches of enthralling sceneries. I knew reading a stranger's diary was uncalled for, yet the anticipation was to high and I gave in to temptation. As I turned the yellowed pages, I found myself sinking in a universe of myths, legends and fairytales, just like any naive child, neglecting reality for the shake of an other adventure.

A Summer Cottage Close
to the woods

"Once upon a time, there were five children who would not accept that there was no magic left in the world. We all know how children love unearthly things or how easy it is for them to surrender in any illusion created by youth. Connected by bonds of friendship and family, they had a little summer cottage hidden in the woods where they 'd gather and dream of all the wonderful adventures waiting to be lived in the future years. But these years came and passed and soon the children were all grown ups, all the dreams now forgotten along with their summer cottage. They were now serious professionals and respected ladies bearing heavy responsibilities and a certain image to preserve. They had no time for foolish, childish dreams - you see, reality is not compatible with those. 

One day, they decided to visit that little cottage once again. So they did. But since they were very busy people they could only stay one day and one night. They arrived at midday. In the past years the verdure has grown wilder and the neglected gardens flirted with the edge of the woods. After settling in, late in the afternoon one of the girls found an old, dusted, book about mysterious, magical creatures hidden under a bed. When they were little they 'd search under the fallen, rusted leaves for fairies and dwarfs or climb in the trees hopping to catch a starlight winged butterfly. As the night fell, the girl - always dressed in red - came up with a game: "Let's get out in the Forest and follow the first wild animal we meet! ". At first there were, of course, objections. You see, they've never been in the forest after nightfall. But the scary sounds and the dark were only enough to scare little children away. They were adults now, so it could be fun - they thought. 

They wandered on the grounds around the house, trying to locate the once visible paths as the last light of the day slowly faded. Soon, they found an owl. Her lonely, occasional, song was enough to capture their attention.The five friends followed the bird deeper and deeper into the forest. The weird thing was: the bird acted as if it wanted to be followed: Flying from branch to branch waiting for its odd tail to catch up. It was a beautiful starry night, even though the sky was hardly visible under the thick foliage of the tall trees. The atmosphere was filled with humidity and the delicate scent of night flowers. Every now and then their senses caught the low sounds of scared animals running away or a glimpse of shinny pairs of eyes watching curiously the unexpected guests. A soft wind moved the leaves and suddenly it seemed as if they were whispering to each other in some foreign dialect. Suddenly the group stopped in realisation. This illusion was far too realistic. Then the owl bowed and spoke in human voice and said: "Fear not, humans, cause no harm will come upon you. Please, if you 'd be so kind, follow me a little bit longer, just until we reach the very heart of the Forest. I then promise you, all of your questions shall be answered". And so they did. They followed the mysterious animal, their senses now alarmed for any upcoming threats. 

" Give It A Back Story "

Was it a dream? Was this really happening? Everyone kept their thoughts to themselves - too scared that perhaps the smallest human sound could chase the dream away. All at once, a cry broke the silence and the trees started swaying under the command of a violent wind. They all froze in fear when the cry echoed again, this time even louder. Pain, sorrow, despair... A dark figure rose from the darkness. It was a tall four legged creature with horse like lower body, human like torso, and a shapeless head resembling that of a swan. Crippled dark wings grew from it's back, featherless and pathetically bare. It's image was as blurry as if it was projected by a mirror - a trick overused by the stage illusionists at the time - but there was an undeniable aura about it, something of a memory of grace and a hint of sadness that made it clear: there was no trick played there, in this dark, deserted meadow.  "Who are you?" It said with a deep, human voice that seemed to be coming from above, like the artful action of a ventriloquist. Yet none of the terrified people could come up with an answer. "WHO ARE YOU!?" , demanded the creature again. Then the timid voice of the girl in red said : "We are humans. Who are you? Why are you crying?" The creature exhaled wildly. " I have so many names... They call me reality now. But all I am is a shadow of my past self. I was once beautiful and full of colors. Your wishes were the feathers of my wings. You called me Dream back then. But your kind has forgotten me, and I turned dark and grey." Then the creature bend down its tall neck and inhaled their scent deeply. " You five were once children filled with hope, kindness and dreams... You too have forgotten your dreams. But I can still smell a hint of hope in your hearts. Even a sparkle is enough to start a fire. Will you please be my feathers? I need to show the world how to dream again. That reality is just what they make of me. That this world can be colorful again. Please, will you be my messengers?" ...

I never learnt the end of the story. The ink has faded away. But one day, I was gathering flowers in a forest near by when I thought heard an owl talking to a tree. I hid behind a rock and listened. It said about five children who thought themselves adults. It said a Dream has turned them into sounds. Messengers... Maybe I had fallen asleep and everything I witnessed was nothing but a dream. But, sometimes, I think I can hear a soft murmur in the wind calling me to fly or I can feel as if there is a rhythmic - rather comforting - song in the rain and there is also something unique in the crystal sound of people's laughter... And I can't help but wonder...Can't you hear it as well?  "

-E.T.

Story rights reserved 

A glimpse of Gatsby's fantasy

Some time ago, I read this book by Scott Fitzgerald called "The Great Gatsby"... I was enchanted at once by the unique, romantic and secretive nature of the main character. For me, Gatsby represented something that I thought to be impossible by then: The incarnation of dreams.

A green light ... That little green light in the end of Daisy's dock has turned into a symbol for every impossible dream, a token for every kind of strange and extravagant utopia. Is there someone brave enough to stand across this light, counting the hours, the days and the years, longing for the moment when he'll finally grasp

the unearthly glimpse? Is anyone romantic enough so as to build a whole life on the broken remaining of a far forgotten dream? Who could possibly sacrifice his entire world without hesitation just to experience some seconds of the illusion of his vision? Jay Gatsby. The man who would do a n y t h i n g for the sake of love. The man who preferred to shut his eyes to reality and fall behind a phantom - just like a child who seeks to find fairies hiding under the leafs.

He wants to repeat the past. Can someone repeat the past? Why would somebody want to go back? When he is happy? I doubt that, since when you are happy all you want is to make the moment last longer. But what happens if you are sad? If you feel like you made an enormous mistake once? Then you do want to go back and change the wrong decision. Gatsby had a really good reason for wanting to go back. Has was being crushed by the weight of his own mistake. In his delusion of grandeur he thought that love could wait for him to fulfil his ambitions. He was poor; he thought he was not appropriate for Daisy, so he did everything he could to become someone worthy of standing by her side. But by then, Daisy was gone.

When Jay said that one can repeat the past, he forgot a very essential detail. He was ready to go back. But Daisy was not. She was not the girl he met on Louisville during the World War I anymore. In all those years, she had become a wife and a mother. She had gained some memories and she had a life. For Jay, running away with Daisy was not enough. He wanted to delete all her memories without him. And she just couldn’t or wouldn’t do it.

A friend once told me something I think I‘ll never forget. We were having a conversation over the whole “time” subject and he told me “I have no idea whether the time is linear or not. But, we all count it in round clocks, right?” That simple statement was a detail I‘ve never noticed before. We do count time in repeated patterns – circles – hours, days, months… they all go back to the first after the last one passes. Could this mean that all human beings have a subconscious desire to turn the time back?

The thing is that in real life, time cannot be reversed. One can only correct his mistakes by planning a new route on the map. The only way of repeating the past is by wondering in our memories.

Before the end of the book, Jay is a hero in the reader’s heart. He fought hard for his dream. Just like a child he refused to accept the truth and he never gave up hope, not even in his very last moments. He died a hero that no one would recognise. He willingly took the blame for everything they charged him with cause all that mattered to him was Daisy. The woman who was too afraid to leave her comfortable life for what her heart wished for and the same beautiful, dissembler and self-centered woman who never called or show any sign of sadness when her dream was no more.

“So we beat on boats against the current borne back ceaselessly into the past”…

- E.