Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

Tell your dreams to anyone. A child, a tree, a bird.

Tell

Say where it clicks, it swells, it falls.

Tell.

And if no one understands, not the bird, nor tree, nor the child

still Tell.

For nothing is as important as the freedom your dreams bring.

Otherwise you will be like a bird with beautiful feathers, beautiful on the outside.

Ordinary within.

Such is the life of those who never dream,

those who never face the revolution within.

Unless they tell, tell, tell, their dreams.

The universal appeal of dreams and its ability to radiate struggle are well known. Ask anyone who has dreamed and they will tell you of the struggles within. But one thing they will all agree on is that dreams matter. You are never more grounded, more free, than in dreams that are incredibly near completion. I say near, because every dreamer begins again always, continuing where they ended with their last dreams. They take a little here, take a little there, dream above, dream below, abandon their dreams, start all over again, all of this in gradual steps until their dreams become like air. Free and on their own. Dreams in essence are not one thing but a giant condition of the heart, with a beat that strikes in varying intensities, like a tambourine with its bells at the zenith of its tune. Such is the power of dreams for those who reside underneath its freedom. So do the world a favor and tell anyone, anything about your dreams.

I spent yesterday, telling a heavenly being my dreams. The ones nestled deep within. I call her heavenly because even God knew Jesus would need help. So he sent an angel my way yesterday from nowhere that is felt heaven sent, almost as if to say where have you been all this time.

I have been hungry for the day my dreams will step to the front on a stage of their own. Hungry too for the day they will rise up and tell their own story, all of their story that I found myself in awe of all the pieces that I seemed to piece together yesterday. The roots have always been clear I said. Always. The world may see what they see of some of my dreams, but I am like an Agaracha that must come back in all sense of the word.

This Agaracha is returning back to her roots, returning back to where it all began and even the dreams are standing waiting for the next thunder. You are never more naked than in your dreams. Never more free than when you dream. I found myself saying that over and over that I now ask my Chi to guide this Ije in ways the birds outside my window sing every morning. Keep telling your dreams…