Kingdoms rise, and fall; history lures us with incredible tales of adventure, or abject horror, and we find temptation among the sirens, or comfort in the counselors of the past. However, upon diligent and thoughtful reflection upon the apparently glistening panorama of the bygone eras, we are, at times, dismayed to find our solid historical foundations undermined by unsettling contradictions in the accounts laid forth by those seeking the truth, but reluctantly having to settle for somewhat less in the ruins and fragments which hint of those amazing stories.
But there is a haven within reach, a rich vein of life within the realm of dreams and fantasies. Oh, to possess the spirit of youth, wherein lays the thriving soul of the future. How we can attain the flight of eagles, or cross the universe in a chariot of fire? It’s in our inner world of hope, purity, and boundless exploration.
Where can we go tonight my kindred soul? Do you long for an endless flight of genuine love and inner peace with another fellow traveler? Is your heart’s blazing desire to find the warm fire on a cold night? To wander into that beautiful green meadow with the stream of eternal comfort meandering through its artful rushes and God sculptured rock formations? I sail calmly upon my fantasies, but I inquire, can it really be so – that a true love can be fashioned out of the vast field of unsightly debris littering our individual histories?
Though I’m blessed with an optimistic nature, I am often trapped in the lurking quicksand of doubt. Am I doomed to a life without love? My dream envisioned one is out there, but it seems that endless mountains remain for the rigorous climb and too many zephyr-tossed seas to traverse for satiating my hungry heart. Thus far, the yard is empty, the next block has its quota, and the nearby village has shaken its head in feigned sympathy to my luckless inquiries.
However, from the Southlands, a promising ballad sails the misty ocean winds for the resurrection of the doomed. But, of course, there are those of apparent repute who contend that reality howls a rattling tune against dreamers of all ages who feel true love can be found at such a time; they say, “You’ve taken reckless leave of your senses. Who art thou to be thinkin’ you can have such a thing?” Then, after reasonable reflection on the frigid shower of advice, I set forth my case. “The time is near”, I chimed. “the proverbial time has come.” I added with poetic license. Albeit, I’m mature enough to accept a venture gone wrong, but the endless fathoms of expectation are the energy source of hope for the long-sought lost Atlantis.