Just Keep Swimming

About a month ago, I had this dream. It was at least a whole month ago, and I still find myself thinking about it from time to time. It hasn't been one of those recurring dreams, but sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, it's all I think about:

I'm swimming. Not quickly, not frantically; slowly, calmly, yet deliberately. I'm in an ocean--infinite dark water behind me, infinite dark water beneath me, infinite dark water on both sides of me, infinite dark water in front of me. It's not cold or hot, but cool, refreshing. I'm naked, but unaware of the fact. The ocean's salty waves subtly pulse against me and lap against my lips as I continue swimming forward. It's nighttime, that time of night when the moon has already peaked but, crowding the sky, begins its slow drift back downwards. It's a crisp night with a few stray, wispy clouds beneath the millions of stars that freckle the sky. The cycle of time stops, and the heavens stay this way. It's always been like this--that time between midnight and daybreak, that still and quiet time. I'm alone and swimming, and that's the way it's always been. I've never stopped swimming. But I'm not tired, and I'm not thirsty. I'm neither excited nor sad. I'm relaxed and comfortable yet focused. Ahead of me, infinite miles beyond the dark water, I can barely make out the blackish green island of land, erratic pin-pricks of light evidencing the life that exists there. I don't know why or what it is, but something internal propels me to continue moving until I reach this land. I have no clue what it is I'm swimming to, but I know it's good, I know it's worth it, and I know how to get there--keep swimming forward. From out of nowhere, my family swims up beside me. I look to my sides and watch my parents and my brothers. They don't speak to me, and they don't look at me. They just swim with me. All of us, at our casual pace, swim forward together in silence toward this distant land. I'm unaware of how long this lasts, but eventually, I realize I'm swimming alone again. I'm relaxed and comfortable yet focused. The light from the moon and stars dance across the rippling ocean, making the waters glisten. And I keep swimming forward toward the lights of the faraway land that I almost can't see. At some point, I look to my sides and see all my best friends from the youth group swimming with me. I look at each of them in turn before facing the front again; no one looks at me and no one talks. We're all swimming together, always forward, always toward the land up ahead. Eventually, I look around and realize I'm swimming alone again. I'm relaxed and comfortable yet focused. And I just keep swimming. This process continues over and over in waves. Mentors and role models, friends from high school and church and college, all the girlfriends I've had, the few I've called my best friends, and finally, a few people I've never seen before: they all appear, swim silently with me for a period, then leave me by myself again. Eventually, the waves of people stop. Aware of the cool wind stroking my face, the soothing waters enveloping my body, the heavens faintly lighting my world--I calmly keep swimming. Always swimming. Never worried or tired or sad or lonely. Just swimming. Always forward. Always toward the unknown land barely visible ahead. I have no clue what it is I'm swimming to, but I know it's good, I know it's worth it, and I know how to get there--keep swimming forward.