The Quiet Blast


Dreams are the unconscious mind’s way of expressing thoughts and emotions that are unprocessed or suppressed by the conscious mind. Because of this, dreams are believed to reveal the secret fears and yearnings of the heart.

A few weeks ago, I had a dream of a perfect moment in time. My dream was the antithesis of a nightmare; it was serene. It has haunted me since the moment I woke up.

I was in the middle of a trial. (I’m a lawyer – a real-life one, not just in my dream). Everything was going my way: I was drawing no objections, and the judge was quiet and attentive (not on his laptop or napping). I was working and thinking at a comfortable pace, unhurried and unflappable. I laid foundations for testimony and exhibits in textbook fashion and with the poise of a seasoned attorney. Anticipating objections and arguments from opposing counsel, I made preemptive moves as if a “Law and Order” writer had scripted them. Witnesses answered only questions asked; I knew all their answers in advance; and all the audio-visual equipment worked perfectly so my visual aids appeared in their full cinematic glory.

As I watched myself in the courtroom, I was aware of thinking to myself. I was cognizant of this question running through my mind: On this perfect day of practicing law, when everything is going your way, and you’re impressing everyone who sees you, are you happy? Like the answers of the witnesses in my dream, my answer was no surprise. “No,” I thought. I saw my face register no reaction to my answer; the Me in my dream was not privy to the dialogue in her own head.

The next morning, I felt doomed. If I couldn’t be happy as a lawyer in the perfect moment captured in my dream… My reasons for continuing to practice law, though valid and practical, had morphed into excuses against moving forward. I had lodged a boulder in my own path. I couldn’t see around it or over it, and it pinned me in place, but it also protected me from the unknown.

Sometimes a boulder can’t be moved, so it has to be blasted out of the way. My heart spoke a dream to blast the boulder out of my path, but will I move?


© Living off Island, Writing Wahine, 2016.


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