Dear Becky, Swim...
Dear Becky,
Last night I had a dream that I was walking down an old dock toward a beautiful mountain lake. There was a vehicle at the far end of the dock and the weight of it was pushing the dock down into the water. It felt very unstable under my feet. As I took a few more steps, the boards began to fall apart beneath my feet. Knowing I couldn’t escape what was coming next, I surrendered to the sinking without fear of the deep. At that moment, I reached back for my youngest child’s hand, understanding her fear would overtake her if I did not intervene; still reaching, I succumbed to the water. Once the dock had dissipated into the deep blue, I clung to her and pulled her close. In that moment, a glimpse of another caught my peripheral but I could not make out a face. With my fading breath, I grasped for all I could see and managed a fist full of hair before swimming to the surface. I had saved them both. But who was the other person?
Becky, I’ve had a lot of dreams recently. Some intriguing, some encouraging, some feel like warnings. But in all of them, I can feel the voice of the spirit. I tell you this because I know you have crazy dreams too. The problem is, they are a language I am not fluent in. How can I learn to listen better and decipher the code? I wish you could tell me, Becky.
In my primitive attempt at understanding, I can’t help but wonder if this dream is trying to remind me not to fear the shaking. It felt like purpose—reminding me of who I am and that I have never feared deep waters—only murky ones. The sensation of water overtaking me wasn’t scary, but serene. Like the unspoken understanding that I would regain my equilibrium if only to surrender to the sinking. But what of my daughter and the desperate but successful attempt to save all I could grab hold of. What of the fist full of hair? And the identity kept in secret?
I have always been a strong swimmer, you know. It’s hard to make sense of it all, Becky. Maybe we should just get scuba certified…Ha!
At any rate, Becky, thank you for being you. I appreciate how you always take the time with these nonsensical writings. They feed the lake.
All the magic and wonder,
Lauren