In that moment, I was eight years old again and ready to cry. The disappointment was so severe that I felt crushed… and I almost was. Less than an hour ago I purchased a long awaited sports car, driven it less than five miles and now it was ruined. Not just broken, but shattered. I couldn’t believe it and I still can’t believe it because I wasn’t behaving recklessly or doing anything wrong.

When it happened, I was sitting innocently in my new purchase beneath a large desert tree, hoping to steal a little shade from the scorching Arizona summer sun. There weren’t many options for shade but I strategically found a spot where plenty of hefty outstretched limbs hung over the asphalt; providing the perfect location. I was parked with the driver’s door open and listening to the radio, when I had a feeling.

Following the feeling, I leaned outside the driver’s door and looked skyward at the substantial tree. I checked the canopy for resting birds that might foul the beautiful deep indigo blue paint. “Perfect,” I thought, as I watched a dove fly away from the limb above me. Now there were no birds. No birds. No droppings. No worries. I was safe again to sit, happily playing with the all the new knobs.

Suddenly, I felt as if a small earthquake rocked my car. Abruptly, I was swallowed up by a sprawling tree branch that had tried entering my car after completely shattering the front windshield. The inside of the perfectly clean car was now filthy with tiny bits of pollen and even smaller pieces of splintered glass. It was like I was in a nightmare. This couldn’t have happened. Partially recovered, I pushed enough limbs away from the door to exit. Grabbing the base of the fallen branch that spanned the entire hood and roof of my new car, I heaved it upward trying to prevent any more scratches that I knew must have destroyed the body and look of the nearly new paint.

Witnesses from across the street descended en mass to behold the beautiful little sports car in amazement at what they had just seen and heard. “Are you alright?” someone asked. The small group gathered around my little beauty as if it had died. I took notice of their comments: “Too bad. It looked like a perfect car.” I thought bleakly, “Yeah, it was perfect a minute ago, but not now.” Everyone was nice enough but I was in a daze. I refused to believe what had transpired. I know I was polite but because of my devastation, I know I wasn’t as friendly as normal.

Accepting the event, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my wife. I said, “I was in an accident –can you come out?” She answered, “You’re so funny!” as she laughed heartily. Then she added, “…You’re kidding, right?”

Repeating myself in earnest, I said, “No, I’m not kidding…” But it was difficult for her to believe. She tried again: “…You’re kidding, right?” I tried to explain but I was now at a loss for words.

She appeared outside still laughing and grinning in anticipation of sharing my jovial mood. Then she saw me and the crowd around my car. At once her cell phone went quiet as she hung up and dashed across the street to what I had once thought to be the perfect place to park. “Are you alright?” She immediately asked. My response was barely audible due to the enormity of emotional pain that I felt. People were stirring around me and my car chatting now about a diverse array of topics. I felt embarrassed and wanted to leave.

The damage was exclusive to the windshield. It looked like someone had tried to push a basketball through the center of the glass. On the inside, the safety glass allowed the massive break to bow in a concave shape that almost looked artistic if I had been in the mood.

An onlooker said, “You know that limb could have gone right through that soft convertible top and hit you.” I responded automatically, “Yeah, I know…” when actually, not once had I thought about that possibility. All I felt was the need to leave and to get away.

Finally, I wiped my hand through the dust that lay where only minutes ago the finish had been so clear that I could see my own reflection. I wondered how bad the scratches would be. It was curious, I thought, that the huge branch that covered the car didn’t damage anything but the glass. Not the front hood, roof or even the side mirrors. Though these thoughts occurred to me, I didn’t comprehend them. I just wanted to get in the car and get the stupid thing home.

I drove off with the windshield so shattered it must have appeared that I was a hit and run driver fleeing the scene. Less than a mile to go and I would be home and out of the car.

My deepening sorrow grew when I received a text of congratulations from a good friend. I briefly informed him what had happened. Just a couple lines of text and his response was predictable: “You’re joking– right?” Then he immediately called, laughing and said, “No way… .” After three or four rounds of trying to persuade him that it wasn’t a joke, he finally said, “You’re probably going to have to journal about this, you know.” I said, “Yeah, I know. I’m sure that I will in some way.” I left the conversation wanting to further insulate myself.

I began to rehearse everything again and again in my head. Was the wind blowing? No. Was there anything I could have done differently? No. Why did the tree branch fall at that particular moment? What if I had moved the car to the only other place to find shade? What was the dove all about? Was the dove a warning? Was I slow to spiritually respond? Maybe I shouldn’t have bought the car? After all it wasn’t like I had to have it.

My wife came home in our other car several minutes after I had arrived. With tears in her eyes, she said, “Do you know you could have been killed by that tree?” I responded still not comprehending the full nature of what had happened: “No.” I was thinking within, ”Isn’t it kind of weird that she is acting so somber?” All I knew was that my car looked like crap, I felt the same, and I had lost any enthusiasm that I might have had in waiting for so many years to finally allow myself a purchase of this kind.

Still lost in thought I began to review my transaction searching for messages that I had previously missed. This was the longest used car negotiation I’ve ever experienced. I did get the car at the exact price I wanted. It was also the precise color that I had wanted. And all too amazingly, a local dealer was selling a hard top for this specific model with the correct color of my car- not a combination that avails itself everyday. Additionally, I bought the hard top at a fraction of what it normally costs.

So what’s the deal? Why would I be offered the exact car I wanted and then have the sky fall in on it? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. See, I was still sounding like a little boy.

Inevitably, I began to become less bogged down by the old energy. I opened myself to observe my childhood and how much I was actually discouraged to dream. Questioning this awareness, I asked myself, “Really?” I wondered and debated within myself, “I thought they (my family) were kind of encouraging.” Then I proceeded to review their words, their energy and their ways. I saw that I had often pretended that I was being encouraged.

I could recall myself at fifteen making an outlandish goal to buy a sports car that then cost $25,000. My dad and one of my best friends wanted to wager with me that I wouldn’t actualize this goal. I remember being so frustrated that I did cry -even at fifteen. Hmmm, this sounds familiar. I also built a car from literally the ground up that same summer. I earned every penny, shopped, engineered and built the off-road vehicle only to be told in the middle of my project that I was “working too hard.” This wasn’t a usual thing for Dad to say because he’s never worked hard. But it was surprising for Mom to intervene. It was as if building my dream was some sort of crime. I wasn’t lost in drugs, stealing, staying out too late or not doing household chores. Quite the opposite, I was getting up around 4:30 every morning with complete enthusiasm to build the car I had been visualizing for years.

My best friend’s parents were also “cheerleading” the same propaganda: that dreams are not reality. I became confused. Isn’t that belief in direct conflict with my recent admission ticket to the theme park where each ticket is labeled “A Year of A Million Dreams?” Why the conflict?

Even as an adult, It wasn’t that long ago that a hypnotherapist offered the suggestion for me to “…fantasize about my surroundings.” I almost woke up out of meditation in anger at the idea. What kind of word was this word “fantasize…?”

So when did fantasizing and the dreaming stop? Why did it stop? I didn’t know but I did realize that profound feelings of lethargy and stagnation seemed to predominate. What to do? Nothing. That’s what my family always offered. So here I was, an adult, stuck in an emotion that was obviously buried deep within my crevices. Was this, I wondered, all some kind of punishment for my choice to again begin to dream?

I spent a little more spiritual time in channeling for myself and the patterns began to really emerge. It was like seeing the entire depth of the Grand Canyon. Wow, what a tar pit this one was. Yet, those stuck feelings were not mine. It was their vortex of stagnation, pain and suffering that they called reality. Oh yes, in truth, I played along in choosing to disempower myself. So there it was. The clarity of the lesson I was trying to show myself. Finally, I observed where I chose to disempower myself due to their influence.

It is not their fault that I had chosen to feel this way. It was my choice to behave and believe as I did. I don’t feel the need to blame or to endlessly reflect upon what I have discovered here. The message is all about me existing powerfully.

This all took place over the July 4th holiday weekend and my car has been parked for a week; time needed for parts and installation. Even as I write, I haven’t yet driven my beautiful vehicle. However, my feelings of uncertainty over owning a little sports car have now become the icon for my freedom to live and pursue my dreams.

My car is a symbol for achieving not just professional or worldly dreams but deep down personal intimate dreams; the best kind.

The power you have to create is put in motion at the time of your conception. Not just your physical conception into this material world but by your continued dynamic thoughts and feelings. How many moments will you allow in stagnation rather than in creating what you want?

Will you allow yourself to enjoy the realization of your dreams? What if I had died when the branch fell on my car? Do I only allow myself one hour to enjoy the actualization of my dream before… BANG! … That’s it?

Around my house it’s often said, “When Weston’s (spiritually) ‘in’ doves, butterflies and wild animals come to greet him and the miracles abound left and right, and then again, when Weston’s ‘out’ the funniest things happen that couldn’t possibly happen.”

My mechanic, who helped me inspect and approve the purchase after hearing of the mishap, said “Maybe it’s an omen you shouldn’t keep the car?” To hear the doubt in the question helped me to become instantly clear and I said, “Nothing is going to keep me from going forward in pursuit of my dreams.”

I’m not attached to the car, but I am committed to the future of going forward without drama, incident and most of all old energy of the past contaminating what is certain to be a ride of the greatest kind. So, if you happen to see me with the top down, with no bruises on my head because the tree limb didn’t hit or even kill me, it’s because I didn’t need that big of a warning. Just a new windshield for a car I’ve dreamed of having for a long time.

The best dreams are about to come true.