Golden Future

It is nightfall on my dreaming. I an worn at the good things that are happening. I have no understanding, I have no grounding. I want to know, yearn to know. Where have my colors gone? They didn't fade. They've been replaced. They've been lost from my view.

These happy things, these happenings have turned everything golden.

So I sit by the golden water and wonder. What is it exactly is calling me? I take the calling deep inside me, spelling each letter of the word seriously. Is it the word calling or is it that I've always known that there was something waiting, something for me to do?

Why have I always had this feeling, this knowledge, this purpose for being?

I write in my journal thoughts of a golden ring. I lock in my eyes the golden future others say belongs to me. Sitll as the pool, I close the book and look outward. I stare inside and our of me. I stare at the golden water. It's minutes. It's hours. . . . lt's me watching a liquiid future with a gentle sun shining on it.

A golden future, that's still only water that I can walk up to, but it will not hold me.
Dreams on water seem tenuous and not considered.
But water gives life as sure as I breathe.
I stare at the golden water and see my life there before me.

--me strass Letting me be