Dream at Night
After this incident, I began to have recurring dreams at night—strange, vivid ones that always followed the same pattern. In the dream, I found myself sitting quietly beside a calm, serene pond, surrounded by tall grass swaying in the breeze and the gentle chirping of crickets. In my hands, I held a large fishing rod, the line cast deep into the still, reflective water. The surface shimmered under the moonlight, and everything felt peaceful, almost sacred. I would sit there for what felt like hours, watching the line intently, waiting. Then, without warning, there would be a sudden tug—a sharp, exhilarating jolt. A fish had taken the bait.
With excitement and determination, I would reel it in, the line tightening as the fish resisted. My heart would race with a strange mixture of joy and nervousness. Finally, the fish would break the surface, glistening silver under the night sky. Every time, I’d feel a sense of victory, relief, and wonder. The dream would end there—me holding the fish, staring at it, as if it carried some kind of message I couldn’t quite understand.
I had this dream repeatedly for days, maybe even weeks. It felt more than just a random sequence of images; it seemed symbolic, as though my subconscious was trying to tell me something—perhaps about patience, reward, or the hidden depths of life I was just beginning to explore.
My bedroom has a large window that opens to a view few are blessed with—a vast, tranquil lake that stretches far into the distance. It is the kind of view that never loses its wonder, no matter how many times I look at it. During the day, it mirrors the blue of the sky, and in the early morning, it hides beneath veils of mist. But it’s at night that the lake becomes truly magical.
When the moon rises into the dark sky and casts its silver glow across the water, the lake comes alive in a different way. The surface shimmers like a field of stars scattered across a sheet of glass. In those quiet hours, lying in bed and staring out through the window, I often fall into deep thought. My eyes rest on the water, but my mind dives beneath it.
I begin to imagine all the unseen things that lie under the calm surface—not fish or stones, but something more profound. I feel, somehow, that there are countless prayers sleeping down there. Prayers whispered in solitude. Hopes released in silence. Wishes carried on the wind and dropped like pebbles into the depths, never to be seen but never lost. Prayers of children, mothers, wanderers, and the forgotten—all resting quietly beneath the moonlit waves.
It’s as if the lake holds their memories in its depth, guarding them like sacred treasures. And every time the moonlight touches the water, it awakens those hidden dreams, sending out a shimmer of peace, reminding me that the invisible things—faith, longing, love—are never truly gone.
