Say you’re looking for freedom. A wilder life. Something More. You glance at an ad: 1,350-acre dude ranch for sale.
It’s impossible and you know it. Even so, the idea just won’t go away. It’s like the ad has a neon sign flashing at you, making you dream, and just when you thought you were done with that kind of stuff.
Suddenly, you are there. Not dreaming – THERE. You see it all: You in your Stetson looking out over those wide-open spaces. A few hundred nicely grazing cattle. A dozen horses, all healthy, strong and well-trained. You have that bow-legged walk, the kind of swagger that’s so much a part of you, nobody can take it away. You taste the residue of dust in your mouth and laugh because it is so-damned-amazing here, even the dust tastes good.
I’m a dreamer. Yes, the visionary kind, but also the nighttime kind.
For many years, I have been taught through what I have come to call my “dream teachers.” I have no idea who they are, where they come from, or why they started coming to me. I have a sense they may be two masters from the orient I've run into elsewhere, but I really can't be certain. All I know is that each time they visit, my life takes a leap.
There is a story as old as time, yet it happens every day, perhaps ever minute of every day. It's hard to know. Such stories don't lend themselves to numbers so well. They don't even lend themselves to telling so well, for how can a true story ever be fully told? It is like trying to catch a fruit fly between two fingers. Still, for the sake of all people with more courage than they know, I'll set my fingers a grasping...
Recently, a new acquaintance in yoga class asked what I “do.” Since that can be a long and variable conversation, and since we were nearly out the door, I opted to limit my response to a “quick and dirty” half-elevator speech.
“I teach about being who you are,” I said. “Who you really, really are.”
She nodded, taking it in, and asked me for my web address. When I replied “BeWhoYouAre.com,” something in the repeat hit her hard.
I don't know about you, but as a child I was taught to say "thank you" as a duty for things given, including meals on the table. Later in life I was taught that gratitude was required in order to "get my attitude straight." I was also told gratitude was required to get more of what I wanted or, on the other hand, not lose what I had. It all seemed the idea of gratitude was, well, rather tedious and somewhat of a way of gaming the system.