In the land of halleluiahs, I’ll be a published author. With ample time to envelop my loyal readers with comfortable and relatable words. If I’m descriptive, they’ll make the imagery themselves.
In the land of halleluiahs, I’ll be ‘steady as she goes’ – not adrift, awash, or otherwise aground. I’ll be charting the course towards concise but meaningful prose. If I’m friendly, my crew – bless them for their service – will be readying the ship to weigh anchor at the Cape of (Rhetorically) Good Hope.
In the land of halleluiahs, there will be no pressure from the life I live during the day because it’s the same one I live at night. I won’t have to divide what’s ‘realistic’ with what’s ‘fantasy’ because there will be no difference. If I’m persistent, I’ll force that line until it is ever more ambiguous – eventually undefined.
In the land of halleluiahs, there will only be friends – the camaraderie will be all consuming. I’ll be playing Gatsby, to share in the vicarious joy of watching my friends become friends apart from me. If I’m outgoing, I’ll shrink the world so those closest to me will find each other.
In the land of halleluiahs, there will be quiet ambition. But there will be no silence, as the dream needs voice – if it is to be shouted. If I’m humble, others will shout it with me.
And – if I am:
Well: I won’t need a land of halleluiahs – this world will be more than enough.