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Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,

Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
The Tempest3.2.148-156

What a dream I had!

A dream of warmth, softness, human connection and long-term bonds. A dream of affection, peace, and celebration. A dream of prosperity, contentment, and authenticity.

And then I woke up.

This “real” waking life feels less real than the dream. And it's not nearly as rosy or bathed in long afternoon sun. But it's what I've got to work with.

A few weeks ago I had a meeting with Dumbledore, and I let my broken homesick heart leak all over the place. “I feel like my body is here but my heart is in Argentina, I'm living in two places at once, with my heart and soul outside my physical self,” I sobbed. And, because he is a very great wizard, he somehow got me to put my heart back in my body, and it was the hardest thing in the world and it took all the courage I had and I felt like I was screaming inside when I did it. But I did do it. “You chose to come back,” he said. “Own your choice. It will not serve you to live in two places at once.” —And I manned up (or womanned up) and stuffed myself back into myself and owned my choice and, having done that, I am incredibly proud of myself. ….I decided there was work to be done here and I was needed here. And there is something important and proudifying about feeling needed.

But what a dream I had....

I dreamed of an isle full of noises, delightful sweet airs that played for hours at every milonga.... I dreamed of a poor country full of the riches of human connection.... I dreamed of a land that had nothing but corruption, petty crime, squandered resources, and deterioration, and yet, a land that soothed my jagged nerves with its cloud-bursting riches of togetherness, unhidden hearts, and authenticity.... I dreamed for not even three whole weeks, and then when I waked, man oh man, did I cry to dream again, every single day.

I understand that I got a rosy best-possible-scenario version of Buenos Aires. Everyone told me quite pointedly, “it's not really like this.” I know that I got unheard-of excellent weather. That I was lucky not to have been the target of petty crime. That when one is on vacation, everything seems great, and why wouldn't it when all you have to do is play, relax, enjoy yourself, and have no responsibilities. That the reality of living there is totally different, and hard, and frustrating, even tragic.

They say, “our country is like Africa, but with beautiful buildings.”

I put my heart back in my body and every day I own my choice, remembering that there is work here to be done, and these people here need me.

But still...I cry to dream again!

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