So, when to write about dreams? At three in the morning, of course, the sound of breathing keeping me awake and I stumble, half awake through empty rooms.

You know, I have travelled to many places and wonder where I am sometimes when I wake. It takes me a while to figure it out. Once I lived in India and taught English to multilingual children. Once I lived in Nepal while students marched in the streets. Once I acted. Once I made films.

Now, my muscles and feet are sore. I was at the allotment with my family yesterday, digging and planting herbs. We bicycled out. I was digging, My wife was planning the plot, finding wonderful things growing in the earth. And my children were playing in a bucket of water. I used to dream of being a great writer, film maker, or an actor. Now I am no longer “I”. Now “I” am “we”. Now we make things grow and shape the world. Now we raise the future. We had goat’s foot salad and wild mushrooms last night. When you feel the food touch your tongue, have a child climb on your head, there is nothing else. These are my dreams now.

And, having written, I return to bed.


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