Dreams. I remember when those were all I had in the world. Penniless, mad, alone: and my one great dream was merely to re-enter the ordinary world. My dream was an antidream, not to fly, but to land. When all you experience are the metaphysical highs (and depths), you tend to miss solid ground — at least, I did. It is that truth we dismiss as being obvious, sometimes, that we do not notice something until we have it no more. Who dreams, after all, of having an ordinary life? Many of us dream of being a star, of riches, of greatness — he does not give thanks every day who has only to show for himself an average, regular life. No, I do not these days pray thanks each day, either, but perhaps I should. My great dream came true, and that does not happen everywhile.
I know that some dreams, we do not tell our closest allies, a hope for something that may perhaps be ludicrous in some others' eyes. I remember telling no one of my one great dream. No one asked. No one asks a madman what are your dreams, afraid of the answer they might get. And I don't know if I would have told anyone, if they did. These secret dreams: they are the one closest to our hearts, with a home nowhere else.... As the angel says, fear not. Your dreams are no more ludicrous than the next man over's. And if, too, your dreams are ordinary, do not be ashamed that you set not your aspirations higher: it is the fondest desire of some out here to have such dreams, to live an ordinary life, to make one's way by an ordinary eye. Cherish them all.
