The River of Dreams

The River of Dreams

Some of the best song lyrics out there were written by Billy Joel, who, God knows, doesn’t seem like a spiritual man (to paraphrase his own lyrics), and yet they are hauntingly universal the way things like rivers and fruits are universal. When I was in Guatemala and we were trying to connect with the indigenous, mostly Indian, people, the common point of connection was favorite fruits. The Africans, the Bedouin, the tribes of the Amazon basin and the mysterious Aborigines all understand that the source of their lives resides in the rivers in their lands. Anthony Quinn in Lawrence of Arabia, as Auda of the Howitat, the sheik who leads his people and remains poor (or so he claims) because he is “a river to his people”. The imagery of being a river to your people is understood by every culture. Respected leaders are supposed to put their people first and insure their prosperity. The world seems to have lost sight of that with people like Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump at their respective helms. Trump tries to divert the river in his personal direction all the time, but he is laughably inept and as despicable as it is, it is a mere trickle of the flow. He manages to divert the flow towards his wealthy friends and patrons nonetheless. Putin, on the other hand, is purported to be the wealthiest person on Earth with an estimated $200 billion in questionably-derived funds. That has all come through diverting the Volga River into his own wallet.

Going back to Billy Joel, who is purported to be worth a mere bag of shells at $225 million, published his River of Dreams album in 1993 at the age of forty-four. That seems so young to me now, but by that time Billy had been a writer/singer for twenty-eight years. He started at sixteen as a smart, but uncredentialed pianist without a high school diploma. Nevertheless, his song lyrics show his thoughtfulness. In River of Dreams he talks of mountains of faith, the valley of fear, the jungle of doubt, and the desert of truth, but we all end in the ocean and are carried along by a river of dreams. That is a simple, universal and beautiful bit of prose that would have appealed to Auda of the Howitat.

I have mentioned many times the powerful words of Norman Maclean as captured in Robert Redford’s great movie, A River Runs Through It. The movie ends with these lines:

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.”

This novel was published by Maclean in 1975, but the movie was released in 1992. I love Billy, but that is too much coincidence for me to believe that he was not at least a little affected by Redford’s powerful movie and Maclean’s timeless words. No matter, originality of thought is overrated and application is all. Billy applied the river analogy strongly to the notion of dreams as the medium of human motivation and that was both a strong metaphor and a stirring thought. He is saying that dreams are to the soul what water is to life, and that works.

That reminds me of the quote from architect Daniel Burnham:

“Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men’s blood…Make big plans; aim high in hope and work…Think big.”

I am moved by people and thoughts that stir men’s blood. I am moved by dreams and can imagine nothing better than a world dominated by a river of dreams. Now that I am retiring ever so gradually, I have to decide if I have room in my life for a river of dreams. I hope I always will, but I suspect I will need to modify the size of my river. I spent a career and a lifetime trying to make sure my river of dreams was both grand and global yet modest and reasonable, a very narrow path to tread.

I thought of this River of Dreams theme this evening, which, as a Sunday, is the day which we have chosen for a full weekly watering of our new plantings and garden materials. Many are currently being watered daily, but some (predominantly succulents which should not be over-watered) are on a weekly watering schedule. So I stand with the best modern hoses and spray handles available from Hammacher Schlemmer and Grommet, taking the watering of small plants, large new and relatively expensive specimen trees and small and delicate bonsai trees as seriously as one can such a thing. It is great time for contemplation since there is little thinking needed beyond the choice of spray strength and duration of the watering per plant. And given the vast array of new plantings, this all takes about an hour of my time and may take more time once three new specimen tree plantings are installed this week. There will be a new Crepe Myrtle, Ocatillo and Strawberry Tree (an Australian varietal, NOT a bush that grows strawberry fruit). I have considered adding watering zones to our irrigation system that could be timed to do much of the job for me automatically. I have about a month to consider this since the irrigation guy is booked until mid-August. I am torn.

Watering plants is a direct simile for the river and the older I get the more I find time to contemplate to be the equivalent of dreaming. The dreams are by design and necessity becoming less grandiose and dominance-driven and more about kindness and caring. I am becoming increasingly like Woody Allen’s version of the beauty pageant winner who says that all she wants is world peace. But I want world peace and human justice and dignity for all. In fact, last night I dreamed that someone from the Biden campaign found and read my blog stories and approached me to join the campaign as a strategic consultant. I was told that I would be needed in Los Angeles daily and would need to be in Washington and New York regularly over the next four months as well. I awoke from this dream with the realization that I would need to cancel our road-trip plans for next week as well as sort out what else in my not particularly busy, but nonetheless reforming, schedule would be impacted. The one thing I knew was that there was nothing more important than helping in whatever way possible with a transition for America and the world away from this horrendous chapter we are hopefully wrapping up this year.

Then I sat up and plumbed the depth of my feelings as I realized I had been dreaming. Where there was a day when I would have been disappointed that it was only a dream. I was, instead, relieved that others were being relied on to carry this important task to fruition and that I am left to tend to my garden and my manageable list of business and academic duties. It seems my River of Dreams is becoming a stream and I am adjusting to that reality just fine. Nevertheless, I will always seek to be at least a stream to my people.