✨prophetic dream✨
It came to her as a dream,
early in the days of loving him.
Not a nightmare—
no fangs, no fire,
just still water
and a knowing she wasn’t ready to name.
Endless ocean surrounded her.
No land, no people, no sound.
Only her—
floating in the wide hush of spirit—
and him,
perched alone in a tiny paddle boat.
She was in the water.
He was not.
She called to him,
“Come feel it. It’s beautiful. It’s alive.”
And he’d smile, nod,
say he was almost ready.
“Just a minute,” he’d say,
again and again and again.
He told her she was right to be there,
told her to stay, to enjoy, to wait.
And she believed him.
Sometimes he’d dip a leg in,
just enough for her to hold onto
so she didn’t drown in her hope.
Just enough to keep her
treading.
But he never got in.
Not once.
Not fully.
Just promises,
just illusion.
And she grew tired.
Her arms ached.
Her spirit sagged with salt and sorrow.
And still he said,
“Soon.”
So she let go.
Took one final breath.
And let the water take her.
She sank,
not in despair,
but in surrender.
Because something in her—something ancient—
it knew she had to go deeper
to find the truth.
And from the ocean floor,
with sand in her hands and a darkness all around,
she looked up.
Through the shifting veil of waves and sky,
she saw the boat.
Still floating.
Still whole.
And him.
Still dry.
Still watching.
Still lying.
And beside him—
she saw her.
The other woman.
Another promise.
Another version of the same deception.
When she woke up…
Breathless.
Sheets damp with salt and knowing.
Realizing it had only been a dream,
but not the kind you forget by morning.
It was the kind you carry—
etched into the bones,
whispering truth
long before your mind catches up.
Even then, she knew:
this wasn’t fantasy.
It was forewarning.
He would let her slowly drown
while watching—
not with cruelty,
but with cowardice.
He needed her close enough to reach,
but never close enough to carry.
So he dangled a leg,
fed her hope in scraps he called money,
and called it love
while letting her muscles fail,
her spirit tire,
her lungs fill with silence.
And not once—not ever—
did he ask her to get in the boat.
Because that would mean making room.
That would mean choosing her.
And he never wanted a partner—
he wanted an audience.
Someone to watch him sit dry,
still,
unchanged,
while she drowned herself
proving she was worth saving.
As for him…
he never believed in visions.
He believed in power, in control,
in keeping her unsure…. And unseen.
But she is not unsure anymore.
And she sees everything.
What he called imagination
was prophecy.
What he called paranoia
was discernment.
What he mocked as overthinking
was her spirit screaming to be heard.
She doesn’t question those visions now.
She wields them.
Like a torch that lights the road ahead—
and a sword that cuts through every lie she once believed.
God didn’t just speak to her.
She was trusted enough to be shown.
And now,
she trusts herself enough
to listen.
This is not madness.
This is sight.
And a coward in a boat
can never take that from her again.
He never realized
the woman treading water beside his boat
was a prophet in disguise.
A portal with purpose from the heavens.
He couldn’t see it—
too tethered to his to-do lists,
too seduced by greed dressed up as success,
too obsessed with managing perception
to meet Presence.
He didn’t want truth.
He wanted comfort.
He didn’t want to rise.
He wanted to be worshipped while staying small.
He needed a soft trap,
not a mystic.
A woman who would never challenge his numbness—
who would keep him low enough
so that he’d never notice
she was never high enough to lift him.
And maybe that’s what he has now.
A false peace.
A mirror that never reflects.
A cage that compliments him.
But she—
she walks between realms now,
torch in one hand,
sword in the other.
Unashamed.
Unshaken.
The dream warned her.
Spirit saved her.
The truth set her ablaze.
She knows who she is.
Her visions hold the ache,
the ocean, the sight,
and the sacredness of becoming.
She didn’t drown.
She saw.
And now she speaks with salt on her tongue
and fire in her hands.
A seer walks out of dreams carrying divine knowing.