I speak of dreams of the heart. Your dreams are like flowers planted. You have to plant them so they can grow. Your heart is the soil. Your joy of imagination waters them. And then they bud and blossom as if on their own.
A dream is an idea. Let your ideas be the leaves on a tree. There are many leaves on a tree. See how the sunlight features the leaves and shines through them.
You were born to dream. Your dreams are not fantasy. They are realization that you are growing toward something wonderful.
Your dreams can pass through brick walls. They can leap the tallest building. Dreams are not meant to be stunted nor shoved away. They are meant to flourish.
Then you will say: “But dreams are of the future. Aren’t I supposed to live in this present moment of eternity?”
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