Monday, October 13, 2014

Dispatch #28: Where Do Dreams Go?

by Lupe Fernandez

Where do dreams go?

I wanted to be an astronaut, feel the rumble of the rocket in my bones, hear the pop of Capcom in my headset, listen to ventilation fans in deep space. Didn't happen.

I wanted to be a movie director, walk in the cool shadow of sound stages, feel the pages of a script, shout instructions over a crowd scene. Didn't happen.

 I knew an actor who dreamed of being cast in films, winning an oscar. Didn't happen. The actor became an spokesperson for a drug company.

Whenever I read someone remark, "Hey I did (fill in blank of amazing feat). Don't give up. Follow your dreams!", I wonder what happens to those who don't make it. Is there a statue of limitations on dreams? Maybe I wasn't realistic. Or it wasn't meant to be. Or I was meant to be (fill in blank of something else).

Where do dreams go when they're not fulfilled?

Maybe my thinking is too limited. Maybe there's a island somewhere in South Pacific where trade winds rustle palm trees, where foamy breakers hiss on a sandy shore, where dreams come to vacation on creaking hammocks and sip sweet pog.

Maybe there's a cool cave carved into tan sandstone cliff, where the wind whistles through dry arroyos, where a gray mouse skitters under scrub brush, where tall dunes sing in afternoon, where dreams drinks cold water, feel the crunch of eons old gravel under their feet and watch the stars under a night sky.

Maybe there's cabin in a forest, where a woodpecker hammers on the bark, where river flows around polished rocks, where falling pine needles sound like rain, where wood crackles in campfire, where dreams roast marshmallows on a stick and watch them puff up into a globe of swollen sweetness.

Where do dreams go when they're unfulfilled?

A psych-unit?

A Twelve-Step Program? "Hi, my name is I Want to be An Astronaut and I'm a dream."

A dank, dungeon where putrid luminescent creatures gibber and slosh in flabby oils.

Tonight, I will go to sleep and dream.

And then wake up the next morning and type.


  1. You are so good. In my head I saw it as a series of scenes in a ride like Pirates of the Caribbean. Thank you!

    1. Susan,
      You're welcome. As a child, the Pirates of the Caribbean ride used to frighten me.
      Aye Olde Blogster

  2. Hi Lupe, Yes, type and type and type and please finish your story, book, or novel, so I can happily read it instead of having to read small snippets in the blog. Keep it up. Dreams are forever. Reevaluate and dream new dreams and dream big dreams. Blessings and hopefulness, Penny (

    1. Dear Penelope,
      Copy that.
      That's astronaut talk for message received.
      Astrolad 3rd Class


We love hearing from you.