There is a room. In this room there is a desk. There is a floor to ceiling bookshelf that covers the entire back wall behind the desk, and it is filled with books and knick knacks that have been acquired during my travels. The room is painted light blue. The side walls are filled with art and photographs from various countries; again obtained while traveling. On the wall the desk faces, there is a set of white French doors that lead to a second story balcony that overlooks the sea.
I enter the room and open the doors to the sound of the waves crashing and the scent of lightly salted water. I sit at the desk and look outward to see a clear blue sky and a clear blue sea. I grab a notebook and a black ink jet pen and begin to write. The contents of what I am writing are unclear, but I write quickly and precisely gazing occasionally towards the sea. Page after page I write, surely no less than 10 pages front to back upon my completion. I read over what I have written and I smile, indicating that I am proud of whatever words I have just scribbled on the paper.
I hear a door downstairs open and close and footsteps follow. Someone, a male, calls out my name very sweetly and lovingly. So I know that I know this man well. He’s familiar with the home. He is also familiar enough with me that he knows exactly where to find me, as there is no hesitation in his steps as he reaches the room. This also indicates that I write in this room regularly. I smile. The kind of smile you let escape when the person standing before you is someone you cherish. I love the man that stands before me (though his face is never revealed and his voice remains ambiguous throughout so he cannot be identified).
As he walks towards me, I stand and we embrace each other for a few blissful moments. I feel safe in his arms. I love his scent. Our embrace ends, he grabs my hand, and we walk onto the balcony. It’s warm, but there is a gentle breeze. Four children play by the shore. They range in age. The oldest at no more than 12 and the youngest at about 3. They spot us and begin to smile and wave and call out to us. They know us. They are ours.
On the balcony, off to the side of the French doors, there are a couple of chairs and a small table. We sit and I notice a bag on the man’s arm. Inside the bag is a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates, a jewelry box, and freshly picked tulips (my favorite). He pops open the bottle and pours its contents in wine glasses that were already on the table. I open the chocolate box and set it down. I pick up the jewelry box and open it. It is a golden locket. Inscribed on the left side is a date (it is blurred so I cannot clearly see it). On the right side is an infinity symbol. I am touched. I smile and grasp his hand. We sit there sharing chocolate, drinking wine, and looking at the children play by the sea. We are comfortable. We are at ease. This feels routine. We are happy.
I am filled with a sense of satisfaction. A sense of accomplishment. That I’ve worked my whole life for this sort of moment. To be able to enjoy my family. To be able to enjoy a quiet moment. To be able to live comfortably. To have no worries.
I somehow know that at this point in my life (though no age is identifiable) I have achieved my dreams. I can also tell that the man with whom I share my life (though it is not clear whether or not I am married, although the locket suggests we may be) has also reached a place of profound achievement. And this moment that we share is characterized by the ability to fully embrace each second we spend. There. No thoughts about tomorrow. No concerns about how responsibilities will be handled or how finances will be obtained. Just a profound ability to live and enjoy what is happening right then with the people who are right there.
An amazing dream right? And to think that I get blessed with this incredible image on a regular basis as I sleep. Only each time the dream progresses a bit further than the last time. Perhaps I’ll add on to the story as I get further along.