My Dream Day

HAWMC decrees it's time for a pleasant surprise, the shape of a dream day! As we near the month's midpoint, we're expanding dimensions and domains of ever-fertile imagination. I'm setting myself the additional challenge that I'm going to phrase every element of my dream day in terms of what is present, rather than in terms of the absence of some irritant.


My dream day would include rainbows and other plays of the light, to remind me of the principles of play and beauty in the universe. No unicorns, though!

On my dream day, I would awaken naturally early and get up to summertime daylight infused with the excited buzz of morning, of stirring, of a whole day ahead. I would do my Five Tibetans and 15-20 minutes bouncing on the rebounder, just like any other day--it's always one of the best parts of the day.


Then, I would sit down and write for a while. I'd do some journaling, and then turn to my poetry notebooks, write down some ideas, and decide which drafts I'd be working on that day. At some point during that process, the phone would ring, and it would be Phil. He's off adventuring across the bay, or else he's on a guys' weekend with his old and dear friends. Checking in, letting me know he's having a wonderful time and will be home mid-afternoon. I'd start to think about what good food I could fix to welcome him home.


On my dream day, there would be beautiful plants, both in my indoor space--aloe, mint, parsley--and outside.

Mint and chocolate would flow--at any time in the day that I wanted any sustenance, I would drink mint chocolate coconut milk, and my body would love the mint and chocolate just as much as my taste buds do.


I would take time to enjoy all the colors and smells of out-of-doors, and to feel grateful.

The symmetry and abandoned abundant asymmetry of plants, the wisdom of earth and root.

In fact, on my dream day, the weather would be warm and gorgeous enough that I would take my pen and notebooks outside and write en plein air. The air would kiss my bare skin, and the mosquitoes would be elsewhere. I'd be fully engrossed in my writing, and would feel alive in the most complete, connected way.


I would take a break and play in the kitchen, which would be tidy and well organized and clean. I would make some goodies that I knew for sure Phil would love. While I was doing a part of that that wasn't noisy or complicated, I'd talk with my mum on the phone.


Early afternoon, I'd have a short meet-up with some poet friends in town. We'd critique each other's poems and enjoy being around each other.


Sometime mid-afternoon, Phil would arrive home with his piles of stuff. As so often, he'd get home and be ready to go right back out again. We'd head out for a beautiful hike, catch up, have some great conversations, be pleased to be together.


We'd have dinner, either just the two of us, or out visiting at the home of some dear friends. Whatever I'd made earlier that day would be exactly on point for what Phil was craving that evening.


We'd come home, I'd do a late email check and hear from some of my favorite people. There would also be a message saying that several poems of mine were accepted by one of my favorite literary magazines, and another favorable message from a potential publisher for a manuscript of poems.


We'd enjoy a late sunset together, and feel harmonic, happy, and blessed. 

I did my dream day as if living right here where I am, but of course, it could be off somewhere else too. For now, this feels good.

How would your dream day look?