This I Believe

Celeste - Forsyth, Illinois
Entered on July 28, 2006

Dreams: Diary of the Soul?

I believe in the power of my dreams. And with all due respect to the dreams that inspire your waking hours, it is the powerful, primitive ones that come by the light of the moon that most intrigue me.

There I was, feeling more at home in this achingly beautiful turquoise-blue ocean than I could have ever felt on land. To my delight, I was soon surrounded by dolphins and seals, eager to swim and play with me. Beyond human, beyond animal, beyond words, we were kindred spirits, and I felt a soaring joy unlike anything I had known. I dove deeper and deeper. Fear was foreign to me, and I seemed to have no need to come up for air. Who knew heaven came in liquid form?

But my next encounter planted me firmly back on Earth. After my joyful swim in the ocean, in my dream I suddenly found myself in a bitter dispute with a boyfriend over – of all things – a beach towel. As the remnants of Heaven dripped from my body, so did the joy that had filled my heart.

Still basking in the afterglow of this powerful dream, I awoke and pondered the trivial dispute that had pulled the plug on my magical journey.

This dream spelled out in rich emotion the fact that I was stuck in the muck of a toxic relationship. It served as a sad confirmation that peace would not be part of my life until I made some changes.

Not every dream I have is profound, but on more than one occasion the special quality of a dream lingered long after I awoke. Whether they come from my subconscious, my higher self, or God, some dreams seem to carry a wisdom beyond my everyday reach.

For example, as I crept toward mid-life and the yearning for “something more” took hold, a series of powerful dreams put me on an unexpected path, pointing me toward a healing art called Reiki. In symbols, these dreams helped me see myself as a healer, and I once again tasted that profound peace –not with dolphins this time, but by experiencing what it could feel like to place a healing hand on someone in pain. My logical mind, earning its keep in the corporate world at the time, did not entirely welcome this unconventional guidance. Still, I could not ignore the joy that my dreams said could be as close as my fingertips.

I have learned to listen to the messages that come to me when I lay my defenses on the nightstand and take that mystical journey as old as time.

Dreams are easy to dismiss (“it’s just a dream,” after all); but perhaps instead we should marvel at the beauty of their symbolism or the simplicity with which they cut through the clutter of our waking lives to help us be who we really are.