I had a dream two nights ago that I keep revisiting. All I need do is think about it for a moment and I find myself completely relaxed.
Like most of my dreams that I can recall upon waking, it was vivid and incredibly detailed, but the details wash away almost immediately. What I'm left with, I think, is the essence of whatever it was my subconscious wanted me to remember.
I am not, by nature, a sea person. Open water does not appeal to me for a number of reasons, the primary one being the inability to see what lurks beneath the surface.
So it was interesting to me to wake from a dream in which I was floating in the sea, tethered to a dock in something like an inner tube. And I'd just gotten out and realized that the waves of the sea were now residing underneath my skin. You could see them there, undulating blue, and it was an electric feeling. Someone touched me on the back and realized what it was, too.
That's it. There seemed to be an entire narrative that disappeared after a couple of blinks, but that one part has stayed with me.
Since human beings are waves of a sort, what with our constant physical sloughing off of cells and rebirth of others, our mental memories and emotions cresting and falling, our sounds, at the atomic level to our individual barbaric yawps, I just found this moment/memory/dream fragment to reverberate with me profoundly.
Waves: disturbances that propagate energy through a medium.
Even if it's some tiny blog in the corner of the interwebs.
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