In the late hours, while lying in bed, motivation creeps in like spiders and apparitions of a different life appear. The walls between conscious and subconscious blur from opaque to translucent just before the dream projector begins its reel. This is where possibility lives. My eyelids become stone gates. I see determination; to improve myself, help others, make this world better with…but the idea is burned into my retina and can never be seen directly. I become the urge to create but do not know what needs to be built. I am too late. My eyes have closed and dreams begun. Dreams erased in morning light. I will forget even the ghost that propelled them. My eyes will open clean and unbound as drawings in the sand are washed away by cold morning waves. I wake to a familiar reality but I do not remember building it quite like this. Tonight, I must remember to hang a dream catcher.