The Language of Dreams

by Rebecca Kalen

All our dreams and desires are woven together like delicate threads in a tapestry we cannot see. We reach for happiness, hope for success, wish for health, love, and peace for those we hold dear. But the older I grow, the more I realize so much of life lies beyond our control.

There is a greater force that guides us.

It gives and takes.

It knows when to open and close the doors.

And we? We must simply be grateful for breath, for time, for life itself, for the moments we’re given to feel, to learn, and to simply exist.

I have always felt His presence with me.

Quiet. Watchful.

Especially in moments of searching, changing, growing.

The world around us does not truly change.

Only space shifts, appearances evolve.

But the human heart stays the same full of longing, of love, of fear and hope. We still need the same things: connection, meaning, the sky, the wind, a hand to hold, the comfort of belonging, and the safety of being understood.

But it is in my dreams that I truly hear my path.

In dreams, I am guided.

I see the ones I’ve lost my father, my mother, those I loved and who loved me. They appear suddenly, without warning, stepping into my dreams from the shadows of memory. And without words, they say:

“Do not forget us. We are still here. We will remain with you as long as you live.”

When I wake, I pray. I speak their names into the quiet morning. I send them love. And something within me lifts as if their spirit is with me, woven into my blood, my bones, my breath.

They are in me.

I carry their love.

And that love—love for life itself is what moves me forward.

There is a deep desire in me to live gently. To do no harm. To speak no ill.

To live with kindness, with truth.

My father used to say:

“Always stay human. Never lie to yourself. Never deceive others. Be exactly who you are. And if you succeed, do not grow proud. Stay kind. Stay soft. Because kindness is what remains in the hearts of others.”

I try to live by those words.

To give more than I take.

To remain human.

And then there was the dream I will never forget.

It came before something important in my life, though I didn’t know it at the time.

In the dream, I saw a snake slipping into the darkness.

Then a hand reached out and caught it.

That hand extended it to me.

I recoiled.

“I’m afraid,” I whispered.

But a calm voice replied:

“I’ve removed the venom. Take it.”

And I did.

There in my hands lay the snake soft, quiet, lifeless. Resting on a woolen cloth.

And there was no fear. Only stillness. Only peace. A strange sense of strength.

I had done it I had held what I feared most.

Later, I understood:

The snake wasn’t real.

The danger wasn’t real.

The fear was real.

But once I faced it truly faced it ,it lost its shape. It melted away like a shadow in the light.

That dream showed me something I now hold close:

We are not meant to be ruled by fear.

The things we fear most are often just reflections of our own imagination.

When we turn toward them, they lose their power.

And in that stillness, we can live.

We can breathe.

We can walk forward

with peace.

With love.

Without fear.