I awoke with this dream of a future, so far away from where I am as an individual today. In my dream I glance at my wife and out the window at paradise. I am in my home, my kindom somewhere far away from the realities of a modern world that are so painful. My dog pesters me to go out. I get up, put on my boots and walk to the door. Outside a freshly fallen snow has covered everything with a fresh new blanket. I step out and grab some wood and build up the fire that has died down overnight. I take a deep breath and sigh. This is my farm, my destiny.

Life isn't always so perfect around here. There is a lot of hard work to get as far as i've gotten, and far more to do. None of the animals have been feed this morning. Many are hungry. So many jobs to do around here at the farm. The fire gets roaring in the fireplace, and the house starts to warm up again as it was during many a peaceful night. Me and my wife sit by the fireplace and warm up as we start to discuss the upcoming day. I jot down some random thoughts in my notepad. Today's ideas are on the meaning off coffee and how it exists on our free farm.

The coffee is cooking in the coffee pot in the kitchen. It is a modern coffee pot like was all know and love, and it fill our addiction for that ellusive beverage. In some ways I feel ashamed having to rely on others for the coffee, and the modern convience of the coffee pot, but are also satisified to know that the electricity powering the pot is entirely our own. Looking at the coffee pot, my mind starts to wander and I wonder what will eventually happen to it and the can the coffee came in. I know I will recycle the coffee can like always, and the coffee beans will get dumped in the compost pile and used in future gardens, but I wonder about the coffee pot. It seems to be out of place in my free and organic life, and it's only end will be burried in the brushy raviene behind my house. It will remain there forever, taking up space that could have otherwise been possibly used for some other unknown productive use.

I can see this first draft is going nowheres. I crumple up the paper, open up the woodstove door and toss it in. I've known for years about the dangers of using a woodstove for burning paper, but I am careful to stick it in a place where embers are unlikely to light the crecode in the chimeny. I start again on that blank sheet of paper. Not much is being written as I slouch back in my chair. My wife comes over and looks at me, and asks why I have not proceeded with my day. She reminds me of the hungry animals out there and that I still have my boot on and are ready to take up the frozen muck of the barn. I never really liked animals as a kid, and I was contempful of farmers and agriculture, but things are different now that the world is in my hands.

Then starts the second draft. I write about rejecting technology for a deeper perspective on the self. It like the first draft goes nowhere or makes no sense. At that point I fell back to asleep. I don't see a lot more to this dream right now. Maybe it doesn't exist or maybe because it needs to be defined by future experience. I am just a college student dreaming of a future that doesn't really exist or is so far away that only words can define it.