Dreams

I know there is some science behind dreams, but I don't think it can possibly explain the profound impact of seeing into my own subconscious. Not that every dream means something hugely significant, but there have been quite a few over the years that have really opened my eyes to the state of my heart and sometimes the world.


I've always been a lucid dreamer. From wandering around my parents house, rearranging the mantel above their fireplace, to visions of demonic presence so heavy my heart would thump out of my chest, to allegorical public gatherings with auto-driving cars and impossible requirements, I wake up weekly with obscure information floating in the forefront of my mind.


Most recently my dreams have carried the theme of the inevitable unveiling of scary vulnerable information. Like riding on a train I can't stop and I can't get off, knowing at my destination I'll be caught and shamed. I'm sure it's because my book will be out soon. Telling my story with my whole heart sets me naked, right in the middle of a stage, being gazed upon by thousands of harsh judges and naysayers. I don't want to be criticized. I'd rather you not, but I have to move forward. Have to and want to, even if it means humiliation. It's worth it to me, to do what is right, to use my voice, one of the only tools I have, even if I don't yet feel any glory for obedience and don't really have any promise that I ever will on this earth.

Unsplash photo cred: Bogomil Mihaylov

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