Dreaming

The title of my blog comes from my favourite poem, "An Invitation", by Shel Silverstein.
If you are a dreamer, come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hoper, a prayer, a magic bean buyer,
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire,
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!
I cannot say exactly why I love this poem so much. Maybe it is because it describes every sort of person I am, or want to be. Maybe it is because these people ar the romantics, the ones with the magic, the wondrement, the enchantment. Not to say that others don't have those things, it's just you seem to find it more consistently and abudnantly in the hopers, wishers, pretenders, and such.
If I can't claim to being any other part of this poem, I'd have to say that I'm a dreamer, both literally and figuratively. I have dreams, in terms of imaginings, plans for the future, fantasies, and inventions. I have trouble connecting with reality sometimes. I refuse to accept the world as facts alone dictate. I prefer to float among the clouds. Sure, you may not be very down-to-earth when you've got your head in the clouds, but you still find yourself walking on sunshine. I strain to hear the songs of the stars and the butterflies. I do believe in fairies. And I try to paint with all the colors of the wind. Don't take me to be some sort of New-Agey spiritualist type, or some Mother-Earth-worshipper either. I'm not. But I am a dreamer.
Also, I am a literal dreamer. Sometimes, I have to wonder, what do dreams mean? I'm not talking about weird interpretations full of Freudian overtones and "longings" and stuff, nor visions of the future. (Edgar Cayce, anyone?) I know that dreams are mostly my crazy imagination gone wild, weaving or sewing elements of my thoughts and my life into a tapestry or patchwork quilt. It isn't very warm, but it sure does look cool. Anyway, what I'm saying is, are dreams a barometer that reflects how our lives, our characters, and our priorities change and mature? Silly as it may sound, do our dreams reflect our dreams? Is dancing with different partners a metaphor for life and loves? Is it any wonder that ever since I was little, my happies dreams have been when I soared?
All this drivel and nonsense is likely the cliched musings of a wannabe philosopher and poet.
But still.
I'll just finish by saying: If a dream is a wish your heart makes, and dreams come true, what happens if your heart is out of control?