Dream Interpreter

The weight of interpretation, once a burden, now feels like a gentle hand guiding me. For years, I’ve wrestled with the symbols, the storm, the unyielding ocean, the radiant white fire. Each detail, a cryptic message from the depths of my soul, or perhaps, from a source far beyond. The dream, once a tempest in my sleep, has become a wellspring of wisdom in my waking life. It’s no longer a puzzle to be solved, but a living testament to the enduring power of spirit.

I find myself returning to the early days of this recurring vision, a time when the fear was palpable, the chaos overwhelming. The image of the house, breaking apart, the people flung into the churning waters, their cries for help echoing in the dream. My own desperate plea, “grab hold to a piece of the house and you won't drown!” It was a primal instinct, a desperate attempt to offer solace in the face of annihilation. And then, the door. That brilliant white door, opening on the water, revealing the impossible: a fire burning, unquenched by the vastness of the ocean.

The repetition of "White Fire!" three times, I now understand, was not just an exclamation, but an invocation. A threefold call that resonated with the very core