A Short Story About Big Dreams

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By Skye Moody

On a clear summer night, gazing into the sky, streaking stars dazzle my eyes and test my counting skills. I’m four, maybe five, lying on my back in a sleeping bag on the terrace outside my grandparents’ summer cottage. In between the showering asteroids, my eyes flick from star to star, and from each I kindle a wish, a vision, a dream.

I don’t remember exactly when I first cast a dream into the sky. Jiminy Cricket bolstered my faith in dreams. Donning Mickey Mouse Club ears, I sang along with the tuneful bug and millions of other kids like me: “When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are …”

“When your heart is in your dreams, no request is too extreme.”

By the second verse, I’m totally committed: “When your heart is in your dreams, no request is too extreme.” Exactly what I dream for doesn’t matter; I am invincible, my life force so strong I can reach out and pluck those stars from the sky and in the palm of my hand render each into a wish come true. Single-handed, no grown-ups required.

I know other kids share almost the exact same dreams, which include: I will be the Lone Ranger (emphasis on the cool outfit and rebel spirit); I’ll be Superman, rescuing people from danger; I’ll be Sky King, not Penny. (These are the pre-action-girlheroes days, when female role models hardly exist, but gender has never challenged me and I’m free to become whoever and whatever I choose.) On weekends, as captain of a spacecraft, I might run special missions into deep space — my father works in aerospace, so this dream seems reasonable.

I control my dreams, not them. Besides, my friends’ dreams resemble mine; my dreams are valid.

Five years pass, and on another clear, summer night I peer at the stars through a telescope; this close I see details, and my dreams take shape. My life skills have grown, too, and now I know two things absolutely: Sighting a falling star does not guarantee good luck — meteors fizzle, and a torrent of adult naysaying derides my dreams. I hold firm.

The negativism and ridicule many authority figures rain upon my plans only bolsters my self-confidence. I control my dreams, not them. Besides, my friends’ dreams resemble mine; my dreams are valid. Another five years slip by. The naysayers bombard my hormonally challenged adolescent camp of self-confidence. I am obliged to rebel. Trouble becomes my middle name, and I’m drowning, taking my dreams down with me.

Into this void streaks a shooting star to guide my journey, not a trickster or Faustian lure, but a wise, old woman who shouts, “I believe in you and your dreams. I can help you.”

She’s the mentor who visits everyone’s early life, the role model who exudes experience and knowledge. There are rules, of course, for traveling the path to glory, and my mentor warns me that, despite her gifts of second-hand experience and first-rate education, I am obliged to travel this journey alone.

Dreams evolve. Dreams take on different shapes and forms until, when finally they are realized, they usually look far different than the original shapes envisioned in childhood.

Decades later, gazing into the night sky, I still wish on stars, even count the streakers, but what really dazzles me is the blinking, voyaging luminary from Earth: the Space Station. I know that one of my fondest dreams is now realized and although I haven’t yet traveled into deep space, perhaps one day I will. As for my other childhood dreams, there’s a catch the mentor decides I must learn for myself:

Dreams evolve. Dreams take on different shapes and forms until, when finally they are realized, they usually look far different than the original shapes envisioned in childhood.

“Surprise! You aren’t Sky King, or Penny, either. You couldn’t fly a kite let alone a bush plane or a space ship, and you haven’t voyaged into deep space.”

Yet.

Dreams, I learn as mine evolve, are often collective and generational. My childhood dreams are realized when they fuse with the dreams of my entire generation. Dreams are collective in part because each generation shares historical realities, and partly because we share individual milestones and cultural conventions.

While my parents’ generation first conquered deep space, even landing a man on the moon, my generation doesn’t blink when a woman commands a spacecraft. The previous generation triumphed over fascism and genocide in World War II, and later broke the chains of apartheid, creating powerful paths toward truth and reconciliation. My generation, taking up the banner, has broken down barriers of racism, poverty and sexism, causing our country to rethink its definitions of equality and justice, and raising children who are freer than any generation before them to realize their own collective dreams for humankind.

Raised on rock and roll, our collective unconscious influences the works of Stevie Wonder, the Beatles, Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Elton John, Led Zeppelin, and many other great artists of our time who share our collective dream and give voice to our shared visions. John Lennon’s “Imagine” represents what may be our most fervent collective dream come true.

Freud and Jung taught that dreams of sleep are really our waking lives disguised. The Toltecs believe that life itself is a dream. My personal dreams embrace the collective visions of a generation, dreams cast simultaneously into the deep night sky. Our survival depends on this collective vision, as we continue to dream of a better way.

About The Author

Novelist, essayist, photographer and world traveler, Skye’s 11 books include a seven-book environmental mystery series and two books of oral histories that span ethnic cultures around the globe, awarded respectively, “Mademoiselle Woman of the Year” and an NEH President’s Grant. Her book, Washed Up, The Curious Journeys of Flotsam and Jetsam, is the subject of an upcoming documentary film. Skye’s photographs have been exhibited in China, Russia, and the United States. Her latest novel, "Frostline" is available on Amazon.com, and the Audible versions of many of her books are available from Audiblebooks.com.