By Dr. Mel Waldman

Impressions last a long time.


I dream. And therefore, I come into being.
In the pitch-black ocean of creation, I have no eyes. And yet, I see. In Mother’s womb, I have no ears. But I hear. I have no lips. And still I kiss. I have no hands. And yet I touch. Without a tongue, I taste the sweet joy of life, unborn spirit that I am.
I dream. And therefore, I come into being.
On a sultry summer’s night, I float in the sea of imagination. I am spirit. I see. I climb Jacob’s ladder, speak to angels, give them peacock feathers, and receive a divine sphere of light. I kiss it. It becomes a dove. I touch the white bird. Now, we are one. And we soar to the Heavens.
I am spirit. And I’m free.
In the prophetic season of faith, I dream. I fly into the Garden of Eden, set foot on the fertile earth, discover the sumptuous Tree of Life, and kiss a turquoise leaf of an overhanging branch. I inhale the pristine breaths of life and smell the inchoate scent of creation. I taste the sweet air of tranquility, and the turquoise leaf speaks to me, whispers sacred words that soothe me; I hear the music of the soul.
In the prophetic season of faith, I dream.
And now, I dream of peace. I dream of tikkun olam, the repair of the world, the healing of the universe. I am spirit and I am flesh; I am a human being who dreams of world peace. A young old man, an existential and metaphysical being in search of my true identity, I dream. A poet, I open my mind and receive a vast bouquet of miracles, a panorama of celestial visions; sweet phantasmagoria, I dream of healing. A writer, I give you my gift of words and thoughts, the precious gems of a man in search of meaning and peace.
I dream of tikkun olam, the repair of the world, the healing of the universe.
I dream of peace.
A psychologist, I dream of understanding. I explore the psyche; I examine its dreamscape; I speculate and strive to learn its secrets; and I gaze into the mirror of my secret self. With each truth that I discover, I receive a key. Each key opens a private universe of duality—light and darkness, hope and despair, and good and evil. Yet I search, because I long for peace of mind, if only for a lingering moment; I search, for I hunger for world peace.
I dream of understanding.
I dream of love. And therefore, I love. I dream of beauty. And thus, I create beauty. I dream of peace. And therefore, I create a House of Peace in the mansion of my mind. When I envision love, beauty, and peace, I give birth to Heaven on Earth.
I dream of love.
I dream.  And when I dream, I change my mind and heart. And so I pledge one minute of silence, every day, for the remainder of my life; for one minute, I will visualize sixty seconds of tranquility; for one sweeping moment of miracles, I will envision world peace. And now, I begin. I see a vast circle of people holding hands; billions of beautiful humans embracing peace and blossoming into a global rose of love for one minute.
I dream. And when I dream, I change my mind and heart.
I dream although I have lost my innocence. My soul is a wounded dove. It bears witness to unspeakable evil. On 9/11, I stood in front of a Bronx community health center and watched with disbelief as a cloud of black smoke filled the sky above downtown Manhattan. When the Twin Towers collapsed, our world changed. Over the years, I’ve listened to the poignant stories of patients traumatized by 9/11. They revealed the reverberating echoes of trauma. But with the passage of time, I’ve heard stories of survival and healing, too.
Last week, I watched the Boston Marathon bombing on TV. A deep sadness shattered my spirit. But in the days that followed, many heroes emerged. Their courage inspired me.
I dream of tikkun olam. It is time to heal.
Now, I ask you to join me daily for one minute of silence in the Circle of Love. I dream. And therefore, I come into being. I dream. And thus, I love; I create beauty; I build a House of Peace. I dream and fix the broken parts of my soul, and, perhaps, a few fragments in the world beyond my flesh. But if we dream together daily, in a minute of silence, we will co-create tikkun olam.
Now, I give birth to this reality. We dream together, every person on this beautiful planet, Earth. We are one, and all things are possible.
We dream.

The Ruins of Lost Time

Just before slipping into a deep sleep, I whisper to my ideal self, who does not exist, “I dream of going home again, returning to Old Brooklyn, and the little house I lived in, on the block of innocence, a mirror of my perceptions, around the corner from Ocean Parkway, the long boulevard rolling south to Coney Island, and the Atlantic Ocean, and a distant future as unfathomable as my fugitive soul; I long to go home.”
Yet when I return to the old house, and gaze at its façade, an antediluvian structure of another era, I see the ruins of lost time, and through apocalyptic eyes, I watch my moribund past implode and pass away, like mortal flesh, breathless and soulless, dissolving in the earth, and returning to the nothingness I fear.
I tremble. The barren truth racks my brain. I’ve come back. But my home and soul aren’t love, only phantom remains.
Apocalyptic eyes watch. A mustang gallops into the past, chases the chimera, and vanishes with the ancient sun, a red sphere that burns the wasteland of ice and snow and dies at night.
And now, I do not exist.