Buried Dreams

Buried Dreams

When I awoke I was having a dream that I didn’t want to end. I was showing someone a portfolio of my old art work. I was like, “Oh yeah, I remember that. I like that.” I had a hard time getting out of bed because I wanted to know what else I had created.

When I got to school I was thinking as I retold the dream to another teacher, that this is my buried dream. I can tell there is something in my soul bubbling up to the surface and I know it deals with my creative life. It’s obviously something I’ve forgotten about. The thing is, I don’t know what it is, though I have some ideas.

There are the literal meanings of spending more time on art, something I forgot about. What kind of art? Painting? Writing? Photos? Now, of course, I also think that I need to decorate my classroom a bit more artistically.

Is it the creation of a new being? I look around at the children here, and would like to have one of my own, but I’ve never really found the right man for the job. I need a good partner first. I don’t know who he is or where he is, but it’s getting to the point where I’d really like to meet someone. It’s funny, it’s not like I cry about this or worry about this. I’ll admit that I used to. Somehow in 2011 I just let that idea go. I know better than to think I can make it happen.

Here I am at this amazing school. I would definitely send my kids here. Delicious healthy breakfast in the morning, the running club, flag salute, breathing in breathing out as flowers bloom Thai English song, prayer to Buddha in Thai, then Sanskrit. It’s reading week, so Kru Neil reads a Buddha Bedtime Story. Each story has a moral, much like Aesop’s fables. Then the DEAR program starts. Some of the cute little Thai students are a bit shy when I ask if I can read to them.  I’m trying to get to know the other students in the school.

I need to get my artistic hat back on. I need to buy a car and have a real place to live. I would like a partner. I’m wondering about the solitude. I hear the dogs howl at night and worry. I see the drunk men and worry. Then, for 99.9% of the time, I feel like I am in a very safe place. I just need a network of safety. Not sure if Nugent Waterside is that, or if it’s claustrophobic.


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