On Sweaty Palms, Gravity, Anger, and Faith

It has been nearly two months since the tragic shooting at Purdue. I revisited my journal entry, looking for my account of a bizarre dream I had the evening of the shooting.  Here is what I found:

I had a very frightening dream last night--a dream that compares to only two others in the way it imprinted me.  Perhaps it formed from the shooting and my threatened safety and my prayers to God to help this country and this world.  Perhaps it formed from my recent viewing of Gravity.  Perhaps it formed a long time ago.  The dream was long and twisted, but the noteworthy part of the dream was my time at “Pacific Rim.”  This “Pacific Rim” was not the rim that the world knows; it existed in an entirely different sphere, at the outer most edge of the earth.  Shaped like a shallow, wide vase made out of rippled and uneven red sandstone, its mouth opened up into the galaxy.  Around the rim of the vase were eight waterfalls, staggered--four below and four above.  The lower four waterfalls fell in long, thin streams down, down, down.  The upper four waterfalls were the attraction for all the tourists who visited this Pacific Rim of my dream.  Because we were at the top of the earth and due to the earth’s spin, these waterfalls did not bubble downward, but swept sideways from their mouth to make an impressive, frothy stream of water that circled the rim.  It was exquisite, watching water defy gravity in such a way.  Though it was night and the galaxy above was as dark as ever save the billions of stars that dotted the sky, below, where the lower four waterfalls fell eternally, was light--the kind of light that sparkles from a diamond back-lit by fire: blues, greens, pinks, yellows, purples.  The light was warm, invigorating, and absolutely lovely; it has marked me.  Hooked to the walls of the Pacific Rim interior were metal rings a few inches in diameter.  These rings circled around the entire mouth of the rim, hundreds of them.  Visitors were to grasp these rings with their hands and work themselves all the way around the rim until they reached a stream of glowing water in which they would submerge in order to return to earth as we know it.

I journeyed to this Pacific Rim not as myself but as an adolescent blond girl, a girl who had just lost her father in an accident that occurred in my dream preceding this one.  He fell from some great height to his death, and I watched it happen.  He was a strong, kind, respected figure.  I was with a petite blond mother in a pink velvet sweatsuit, and a brother, who was also Preston.  We journeyed to the Pacific Rim because our father loved this place--revered it--and we sought closure and peace following his death.  This Pacific Rim was a sacred place for many people--a Mecca of sorts.  A once in a lifetime opportunity.  But for me, the dreamer, it turned into a nerve wracking, terrifying experience.

The hundreds of tourists visiting the site had their gear, having prepared for a long time to journey around the rim.  We were encouraged on by guides, lifted inside the vase by some contraption and urged forward beneath the stars and other-worldy waterfalls.  The mother moved first toward the small rings, solemn and determined in her journey around the rim.  It was her way of coming to grips with the loss of her husband.  She moved quickly and I never saw her again in the dream.  As I took in the Pacific Rim, its eternal waterfalls and its magic light, I was overcome with its beauty.  I stepped onto the sandstone, my shoes gripping the gritty rock, and grabbed my first ring.  Preston was just ahead of me.  The beginning of my journey was fueled by the surrounding beauty.  The energy was warm and light.  I could hear the reverent exclamations around me—this place was stunning.  Only God could have created such a place.

As I moved from ring to ring, carefully placing my feet on the rippled sandstone and curling my fingers around the metal, I noticed a fatigue in my fingertips.  My legs started to shake and for the first time I realized that I was not fastened to anything.  No one was.  We all relied solely on the strength of our legs, arms, and fingers to get us around this rim.  If our strength failed, we would fall, rolling down the sides of the rim and into the eternal light below.  It would mean death, just like the father's.  Why was I not given a rope?  Why was no one else concerned?  People moved steadily above and below me, their hushed chatter happy.  I, however, was panicking.  I did not want to join this father.

Preston stood by me urging me on, compassionate in my distress.  I kept moving, my hands getting sweaty.  My rings started to get smaller and thinner.  They had gaps in them, like my hooped earrings, and my fingers kept slipping through the gaps.  I had to take precious moments to rotate each ring for a good grip.  I began to really panic, being too far along to turn back but yet so far away from my destination.  The stars looked menacing as I stared at the abyss both above and below me, having nowhere to go but to the next ring.  But I was shaking so badly that I could hardly get my fingers into the feeble ring.  And those fingers were so sore, rubbed raw.  My shoulders ached as I carried the weight of my body.  I could not find a grip for my feet.  I reached for a ring that was too far and ended up barely grabbing it, my fingers curled backwards.  As I released my weight, I slipped, my body spinning to face the center of the rim as I hung from the two rings.  As if on a cross.  As my sweaty hands slipped, I looked up to the sky above me, seething.  I could not do this.  Why was I here, and where was my help?  Why would someone who loves me let me get into such a situation?  I had no strength.  I had no tools.  I had no companion.  I had nothing.  I was utterly alone and the light below me and the heavens above me laughed.

Somehow, I maneuvered off of my cross.  Preston was there again, encouraging me.  The rest of the journey was exhausting and faithless.  The rings continued to shrink until I was sure they could not hold my weight.  But they did, and I eventually reached the flowing river that stood as portal to my safety.  I entered with shaky relief, giving only one last look at this idolized Pacific Rim, my emotions peaked and frazzled, my injuries fresh.  When I finally woke up, my thoughts rested on the idea that a life without faith, without hope, is not a life worth living.  But those desperate emotions were too real and too recent.  I had to remind myself that I know a life of faith, and that God has not abandoned me.