The water was up to my ribs and I had a pole in each hand. Walking was hard but doable. I was searching for them all over the place. The place was made up of tunnels and canals that alternatively went from darkness to daylight, with no obvious pattern. I was searching but I wasn’t desperate. It was an intense and conscious movement through the warm, calm waters. I had intent and even if I fell lost I knew what I was doing. I felt certain of my purpose and that prevented me from feeling overwhelmed by fear. The canals seeemed to connect at some point, but it was difficult to say if I was in the same canal I had started in, or if I was walking in new ones every time. For a moment it felt like I was going over and over the same paths.
I know where they are. I think I see them now… oh no, it’s not them. Maybe in the next tunnel, I will see them. What if they are not here anymore. No, they are here, I will find them. Just a little longer and I will find them.
How long had I been in the canals? How much longer did I need to keep searching? Why was I there? The water was up to my ribs but the poles made it easier to walk. But, who were they? Why was I walking in water?
All these questions came to me when I woke up.
I am no freudian specialist, but I like to think about this dream as a metaphor for my writing career. It is hard to walk in water but not too hard. I have poles that are tools to help me advance, like I have tools to write. It’s scary at times but not that much. One moment I’m in a dark tunnel and the next I’m out in the light. And finally, I am looking for my readers. I know they’re out somewhere but I can’t find them yet. And even if I seem lost, I persevere. Yeah, that’s about right.