She fell asleep surrounded by books, writing her dreams in a journal. She awoke to water lapping at her bed. Her room now stretched around her as a dark and roiling sea. The horizon disappeared in a mist that slithered in from the descending sky. Her bed bobbed and tipped from side to side. Refusing to give up she grabbed her journal and began using it as a paddle. She rowed with the strength of her dreams unsure where she was going. Fear burned within her as she saw the water darken even more—and the darkness moved—something massive, some dark shape shimmered just below the surface. But she kept rowing. Suddenly the darkness leapt from the water—a giant manta ray. And as it rose into the sky, leaping for the moon, a white flower, limp, but radiant, washed up onto her journal and clung there. She looked down, stunned–land was near. The manta ray plunged back into the water surging her forwards. Renewed by the hope of the little flower that she delicately placed between the pages of her journal, she paddled with her dreams harder than ever. And there, up ahead, an island bloomed into view. The manta ray rose again this time lifting her and her bed clear out of the water. She screamed but then realized it was carrying her towards shore. She laughed. It carried her as if she were riding a magic carpet, right towards land. The manta ray’s wings billowed as the wind rippled through them. She rose unsteadily, and spread her arms to the sky. The wind blew back her hair and she shouted in triumph. She could see the island was a lavish, vibrant paradise of flowers and trees, of crystal pools, and shimmering streams, gardens of vegetables, and orchards of fruits, of grape vines strung across wooden trestles, of fields of golden, waving wheat, of fields of wildflowers praising the Light. She could see someone was standing waiting for her. She could see a circle of angels. And as the manta ray sank, letting her bed settle in the shallow waters, she saw who was waiting, and she stumbled, running towards shore, splashing and weeping. For there, arms open, hair woven with a garland of white flowers, face beaming like the sun, was a child. They embraced as the angels closed the protective circle around them. The manta ray leapt for sheer joy over the island. Everyone cheered. And then she walked, hand in hand with the child, followed by the angels into the gardens where they picked the freshest fruits and had a feast of sweetness, a feast of having conquered her fears, a feast of thanksgiving, a feast of being God’s Wildflowers, a feast of being truly home.
Ride the waves of fear and doubt,
Raise your hands to the sky,
You will be carried in ways unfathomed
Towards the heavenly light.
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog