The Train of Dreams

A pandemic tale

2020, what a year…

It's hard to believe that five years have passed since that debacle that practically altered everything in our lives, both inside and out.

Critical moments like that led people to introspection.

Four walls, a roof, and a bit of silence are what is needed to see life going forward and backward with all the questions together.

This internal revolution of mind and soul seeks to manifest itself in some way.

Sometimes with acts and other times with words.

This tale is one of several writings I made during that time.

The train of dreams

They called it “The Train of Dreams.”

Faceless men promised to the four winds that, for a price, this train could quickly carry people's dreams to their respective destinations to make them come true.

Many believed in this, and among them was me.

It was then, on a day of weakness, that I placed my dreams on that train.

I arranged them well in their cabin seats, well protected and locked up so that no one could touch them.

I got off the train and went to the platform to wait for the train to leave.

Now I just had to go to the destination on my own and wait for my dreams to arrive.

But I hadn't even left the platform when the train and all its cars derailed violently and spectacularly just as it started to move a few meters.

Tonnes and tonnes of cold and merciless scrap metal enveloped the untouched dreams due to the debacle, waiting for their respective owners to take them back.

Hundreds rummaged among the scrap to recover their dreams.

Others, resigned, left them there, discarded and abandoned.

These orphaned dreams were discarded to make way for the cleanup of the scrap, and to prepare another set.

The faceless men asserted with overwhelming and noisy conviction that “the next time would be different” and that every time the train failed, it was for this or that reason.

The most foolish simply handed over their dreams, again and again, to this train that, time and time again, derailed and scattered people's dreams mercilessly.

It was on the third or fourth time I picked up my dreams from among the wreckage of the train that, still feeling frustrated, I noticed a humble white cabin just a few meters away.

A light white smoke with an unmistakable smell of firewood was coming out of its chimney.

And on its porch sat a peaceful man, young for his age, old for youth, but with a clear look of experience that, saving words, reflected in his gaze a window to his thoughts: the deep disappointment in those who repeatedly trusted their dreams to a great lie.

This man realized I was watching him and spoke loudly.

Indirectly, but clearly directing his words at me. “How stubborn...,” he said after a sip of whisky.

“Why?” I asked from my ridiculous and obvious innocence.

“Because the truth is too evident even in misfortune,” he said before taking another sip and placing his glass on a small table.

“Dreams can never go faster than their dreamers.

And much less separate from them.

That's why the train doesn’t move.

That's why the train will never leave that station.”

“Excuse my boldness, sir, but... where are your dreams?” I asked, astonished at what he had said.

Without a doubt in his gaze, he replied.

“You are seeing them right now, young man.

You don’t see them in the way you know because they were realized a long time ago, and because dreams, once realized, look very different from what one initially expected.

I had to travel many leagues for that to happen.”

As he finished the phrase, he poured another small glass of the dense drink, left it on the table, and signaled to a small bench with the back of his hand as an invitation.

Once I sat down, burdened with personal despair, and while trying to decipher the taste of a completely strange drink, he continued.

“Dreams are very crazy.

You never know if they are truly creations of one's own.

Or if they are part of something larger...

But I do know one thing: when dreams are carried by their dreamers along the path of the just, they nourish each other.

Because both the dreams and the dreamers who walk that path all resemble each other.

Like lost brothers who reunite.

That’s why it’s so important to carry them with you, even when we sometimes get tired and they seem heavy.

This path is long, it has no shortcuts, it has no conveniences, and it certainly does not discriminate against anyone who travels it.

But I assure you, young man, that you will never be alone out there.

And I tell you something more”...

He paused to take another sip of his glass, and after a few eternal seconds, he continued.

“The happiest people on this Earth are those who dream of helping to realize the dreams of others.

On that path, you will distinguish them by their eternal smile, and a light so powerful that unites the dreams they carry with the person themselves.

They may seem few, but when you find them, you will know they are everything along the way.

And they might even infect you with that hunger to serve the universal fraternity.”

With another sip, he finished his glass and concluded: “Excuse my ramblings, young man, if you need anything else, please ask.”

I looked again towards where the new train set was waiting to depart.

Hundreds and hundreds kept depositing their dreams there.

While the words of that man resonated within me, I closed my eyes tightly and held back the bitter tears of frustration, shame, and guilt for having been so stubborn.

So blind to a colossal and catastrophic lie.

“I understand what you feel, young man, because I was once in that same place.

I see you are very tired; perhaps you want to rest a bit.

Carring dreams can be exhausting, especially when they are taken through the wrong paths.

And from what I can see, yours are great.

If you want, my wife will prepare the guest room for you.

Take all the time you need.

And when you are ready, you can set out on your journey.”

“Are you one of them?” I managed to ask with my strained voice.

“Far from it, my friend.

I’m just another pilgrim, just like you.

That said, I was lucky at one point to find one of Them along the way.

And to this day, I remember hearing from his mouth that the day would come when I would encounter the divine grace of meeting a brother pure of heart, distracted, yet wishing to realize his greatness.

Your dreams are just, young man, and I believe that day that was announced to me has arrived.”