Last night I dreamed of rain. I dreamed I was walking through the streets of a desert city, brown like Hovd, when the invisible sky above was rend apart and the storm began. As I walked though the downpour, the world around me began sliding downwards in swirls and shades of brown, as if existence had saturated itself to pieces. I turned my face upwards and let the drops fall upon my cheeks as everything else slid away.
I don't know what the dream meant. I do think dreams come from somewhere; they aren't completely random. I am also a big believer in water imagery; Kate Chopin's The Awakening is by far one of my favorite novels in part because of the the way in which she weaves water throughout the story. The dream might have stemmed from the idea that a storm can mean baptism, a fresh start and the cleansing of the old. That would connect to the fact that I am beginning to contemplate my life post-Peace Corps as it nears with every passing day. The change that awaits me in less than five months is sure to be something of a tsunami of emotions and transitions. Or maybe it's the fact that I just really miss the rain. Having always lived in a rather wet environment, I grew to adore Southern summer storms, gray Mid-Atlantic days and drizzly English afternoons. A world without precipitation still seems wrong even after such a long time. Moreover, the fact that my Facebook News Feed is being devoured by photos of my college friends at the beach on Spring Break brings into sharp focus that most painful of emotions: self doubt. Via social networking water is being connected with the reservoir of emotions that brings me to so many reservations and regrets I have about being this far away, so isolated from my friends. But whatever this dream means, I know it is far from reality. There is absolutely no hope for rain until many months have passed from now. But even so I will continue to wake up and pray for ominous clouds, pregnant with liquid goodness that sprinkles the ground. Seeing the rain again might wash away my homesickness for my friends and my yearning for the sands of the Georgia coast. The sandy soil here feels parched after so much snow that never quenches it's thirst and I could use the deluge, as well.