This is a dream I had recently. I don’t often remember dreams in much detail, but have had a few lately that I could.
I stand on a beach, facing the sea beneath a clear blue sky. My feet rest on the packed, firm sand where the sea has just been. A wave towers over me. It is just beginning to break, the crest curling gently over, approaching the tipping point. Inside the wall of crystal blue water unclear brown things float in suspension, murky and out of focus.
The wall of water does not break, or crash down. It is unmoving but not frozen. Somehow it retains a sense of motion, of momentum.
I head towards the wall of water, apprehensive about the unclear brown things, aware that something is not right, but caught in my own momentum. As I prepare to break the surface of the wall and enter the sea I am suddenly aware of others on the beach. They shout to me, warning me not to enter the water, to turn back.
I listen to them, turning on my heal, suddenly full of fear and running away from the sea. Now the others on the beach (I hear them but cannot see them clearly) shout again warning of danger approaching, telling me to watch out behind me. I’m caught between escaping the danger lurking in that wall of water, and needing to know what form the danger takes and how close it is.
Then I woke up.
I wrote it down thinking about maybe trying to turn it into part of a story, but frankly: where the hell would it go from here? Which is almost certainly the point of the dream… I’m returning home imminently from two months away after big changes in my life. I’m really keen to get home and begin getting on with life and finding work, and seeing friends – but I think the dream is my brain slightly anxiously saying “so what are you going to be doing then, bozo?”.