Since I was a little boy—with flaming red hair—a face full of freckles—I have always been a dreamer…
As life’s bullet train has sped through my night… my freckles have faded… blended…
my hair has darkened from that fiery red—to something older…
But my dreams…
They have never faded…
They are still alive…
Sleep is not rest for me—
It is assignment…
It is battlefield…
When I close my eyes at night—
I am not drifting off…
I am clocking in…
For a fight…
Since childhood—storms call my name…
Not gently…
But roaring… spinning…
Tearing open my sky…
Hurricanes… tornadoes…
I have stood in both—right in the heart of them—more than once…
They do not push me back…
They pull me in…
I do not run from storms—
I run toward them…
I am a storm chaser…
Yet in my dreams—the rules reverse…
In my dreams—the storms chase me…
For fifty years—I have had the same recurring dream…
Hundreds of times…
Tornado dreams…
Always different… yet always the same…
Tornadoes spinning on every horizon…
Coming for me…
Hunting me…
Running me down…
They never quite catch me—
But they drive me forward…
They harden my legs…
They make me stronger…
Yet…
It would be great just to rest sometimes…
Catch a break in my night…
Lay down my sword…
Take off my armor…
No courage…
No strength…
Just sleep…
Just sleep…
Just sleep…
`’.°~ ¹⁴³
In me… songs are alive… soundtracking my dreams… night after night…
While writing this… I listened to the album History by Matthew West… from 2o05… one of my favorites from him…
Fragments of Loia 