Dreams are but stories that possess a beginning, middle and end.
Recognizing this Aristotle superimposed this organization of dreams–his three-act structure onto that of plays and stories to render them more comprehensible.
Dreams, like stories and plays, hold drama, and their trajectory of plot often includes a dilemma, even if the problem is one of overwhelming joy.
No matter what the situation, there looms the fact of the dream coming to an end, not unlike life where Death stands as then inescapable hoarder of all that has ever lived and thrived.
Holding a story is in essence holding new life, until it is ready to emerge into the outer world. Stories, like fetuses that enter the world too soon to sustain and maintain life outside the mother’s womb encounter problems. Some even die.
Our stories must reach a certain point within us before we birth them.
Delivering them through words not caught and saved, as in telling and sharing them with unqualified listeners, our stories lose necessary energy, fuel that when the story is kept inside or written and/or type out, preserves not simply the integrity of what we are trying to say, but also the yarn and the soul of our story that is trying to make its way through us, and into the world.
Allowing a story to seed and root within you protects and saves the passion, which sits at the heart of the story and drives not simply the plot, but us, our fingers to either write or type it out.
In this instance, silence truly is golden.