I am learning to live in the moment, a lesson imposed by chronic illness. No use regretting yesterday’s actions or inactions, and no point fretting about or planning the future. What I know, is that there are moments of time, fleeting intervals that pass, some with profound relevance, some seemingly meaningless, and many in between.
Last night I dreamt that from where I stood a vast ocean rolled out before me – water as far as the eye could see and above it clear, blue skies, tiny crisp white sails on the horizon the only demarcation of where the water ended and the sky began. I could feel the gentle lull of the ocean swells, and with lucidity, wondered where I was in this infinitely serene landscape. Only then did I notice that I was standing at the rail of a large ship, still docked, waiting for the vessel to launch and my journey to begin. The image has stayed with me all day, lingering like a beautiful piece of art that has stirred my imagination.
I would love to be on the ocean, sailing to exotic locales, feeling the freedom of the salty breeze washing over me and the warmth of a Caribbean sun beaming. There is something so awe-inspiring about sailing with nothing but water in sight, having let go of the certainty of land and launched into an unknown, aware only of the depths beneath and the all powerful essence of the sea. It is an exercise in trust, a willingness to take risks, to put yourself in the hands of others, and a higher power.
The waters in my dream were calm, the scene idyllic, but anyone with common sense knows that that can change in a second. Naturally, we want to launch into what appears to be still waters, to be carried away and lulled by a sea of calm and serenity, however; this is just not the nature of life.
The dream left me hopeful, though, made me believe that there might be brighter days ahead, and that my proverbial ‘ship’ might one day set sail.
For now, I will continue to live in the moment.