Tempest

It is always the same dream.

The storm is approaching. I know the tornadoes are spiraling down. Or, I can see the tidal wave headed for shore. Maybe a hurricane looms on the horizon. Either way, I am caught in a tempest with no sign of escape.

I watch the sky grow dark and pregnant with fury. Someone I love is nearby but doesn't understand the storm is coming, that it is going to be devastating. I begin a maddening dash to warn them, to save them. Sometimes, I find them and they won't take me seriously. I beg and plead for them to come with me. Sometimes, I find them but we can't get far enough away. We race upstairs to avoid the water coming in through the doorways or we jump in a car and try to out run the funnel clouds touching down all around us. Sometimes, I just search until the sky rips open. But I always wake up just before I know it's too late.

In waking hours, storms give me peace. In sleep, they are monsters.

I remember in one these dreams, I was at the beach. Surfing. Sea glass hunting. I noticed that the waves were getting higher, crashing with more ferocity and foam. I backed out of the water and saw the sky turning purple. The color of a traumatic bruise. I looked around but all the other beachgoers were happy and clueless. Lightening struck. Thunder rolled. Waves crashed. Still, no one noticed. I ran for the boardwalk to warn my mother and sister. As I ran off the beach, my legs felt heavy and each glance over my shoulder made me panic. The sky was alive with destruction.

I often wonder if it means anything at all. A long time ago, someone gave me a book about the interpretations of dreams and imagery. I read that dreamers of tempests will be beset with calamitous trouble and friends will treat them with indifference. I'd rather face down a real tornado.