Dreams on the Doorstep

You are on the precipice of all you’ve ever imagined waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Line forms at the right. There’s that clearly imagined sneering voice in the wings  waiting for you to digest the last morsel of believing something entirely so it can tell you your belief is unfounded, especially you. Chances are you are in a fight with your history. And, while your history, like mine, has its distinct presence, it is only the decision maker you allow it to be.

Here I am at 56 on the verge, or so it seems, of co-owning property. A house! A real honest to goodness house. Pinch me, I’m dreaming. And if this dream on my doorstep wants to come in let me keep the door open and welcome it, the wonder of it. A beautiful house with rooms and sunlight and oak floors and a barn and beautiful large trees. It takes no effort to remember days of hunger, days of walking the streets, nowhere to go. My dream then was to sleep in a  real bed with sheets and blankets and pillows one more time before my life was over. I didn’t care if it was in an SRO or a basement. The idea of clean sheets was tantamount to heaven.

I can tell you that none of this would be happening were I not sober. Without sobriety, nothing is possible. With sobriety, whatever is possible comes into view, and whatever isn’t is manageable.

Dreams on the doorstep you gotta lettem in. Dreams on the doorstep for you too. Dare to dream then dare to believe. Keep your doors open, the dream’s on the doorstep, welcome home.

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