It is one of the blessings of this world that few people see

The great writer and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston, whose words carried both fire and tenderness, once wrote: “It is one of the blessings of this world that few people see visions and dream dreams.” At first hearing, this may sound like a strange blessing — for are not visions and dreams the marks of greatness, the sparks that set history ablaze? Yet Hurston, in her quiet wisdom, saw a truth that few dare to name: that to see visions is not only to be inspired, but also to be burdened. To dream dreams is to awaken to a destiny that often separates one from comfort, from peace, and from the company of the ordinary. Thus, she calls it a blessing that most are spared such sight — for those who truly see, see too much.

Hurston lived in an age when dreams were dangerous. As one of the luminous voices of the Harlem Renaissance, she wrote of freedom and identity at a time when the world sought to deny both to her people. She understood that visionaries — the prophets, the dreamers, the ones who see what others cannot — walk a lonely road. To dream of truth in a world built on lies is to live as a stranger among one’s own. To see beauty in the midst of cruelty is to bear both hope and sorrow in the same breath. Visions lift the soul above the earth, but they also expose it to the storm. That is why Hurston’s blessing is double-edged: it spares the many from the pain of those who have seen too deeply.

For every age has known such visionaries, both cursed and chosen. Consider Joan of Arc, a peasant girl who claimed to see holy visions that guided her to lead armies and crown a king. Her sight made her mighty, but it also doomed her. Those who could not see as she did called her mad, a witch, a heretic. And so the same fire that lifted her above her time consumed her in the end. Hurston’s words might have been whispered to Joan’s spirit — a recognition that the divine gift of vision is also the heaviest of chains. It brings purpose, but it also brings peril. The world admires its dreamers only after they are gone.

So too was this the fate of Martin Luther King Jr., another dreamer who dared to proclaim his vision aloud. “I have a dream,” he said — and his words awakened a nation. Yet to dream so greatly is to walk in constant danger, for those who dwell in darkness always fear the light. He was mocked, hunted, and finally slain, but his vision endured. His life stands as proof that to “see visions and dream dreams” is both glory and grief — a divine fire that warms humanity even as it burns the dreamer.

In her wisdom, Hurston also hints at a truth about the rest of us — the many who do not see visions. She calls our ignorance a blessing, not because blindness is noble, but because it grants peace. The farmer who tends his field, the mother who rocks her child to sleep, the craftsman who labors quietly at his trade — they live in the rhythm of the world as it is. They do not wrestle with the unseen; they do not burn with visions of what ought to be. Their hearts are spared the restlessness of the dreamer’s soul. And perhaps that too is sacred — for if all men saw visions, the world would tremble under the weight of its own longing.

Yet let no one mistake Hurston’s words for scorn. She does not despise the dreamers; she honors them. Her statement is not mockery but understanding — a knowing sigh from one who has dreamed herself. She knows that visions bring both revelation and exile, that dreams open both heaven and abyss. And she knows, too, that those who carry such gifts do so not for their own sake, but for the sake of those who cannot see. Every generation needs its seers, its poets, its prophets — but it is mercy that not all are chosen. For the world could not bear so many burning souls.

So, my children, take from Hurston’s wisdom both humility and courage. If you are among the dreamers, do not despair at your loneliness. Know that the path of vision is narrow, and few will understand you — but walk it still, for the world depends upon your sight. And if you are among the many who walk in peace, do not envy the dreamers; honor them, for they carry the burden you cannot see. Each has their part to play in the harmony of life: the dreamer to envision, and the doer to sustain.

Thus, remember this eternal truth: visions are both blessing and cross, and dreams both light and fire. The world needs its seers, but it is mercy that they are few. For the eyes that glimpse eternity can never again find full rest upon the earth. Yet from their sleepless gaze, the rest of humanity learns to awaken — and in that awakening, the dream of life goes on.