At 2:30 A.M. I awoke with this dream:

It is Saturday afternoon, a regional swim meet underway in the natatorium at Brandeis University. Tension mounts among hundreds of spectators as six male swimmers climb atop starting blocks, take their positions, and await the gun. A loud crack slices the humidity dripping from overhead skylights. The swimmers plunge into the water, their toned bodies aching for the lead in this final event, the 400-meter free style. Immediately the swimmer from Brandeis takes the lead among roars of support; he keeps it until he touches the end of the pool and sets a new record.

Yesterday’s message of “I’m going home!” seems to fly in the face of this morning’s corrective dream, evidently from a deeper stratum of my unconscious. I’ve more work to do.

It is Saturday afternoon, in the midst of life, not its end. The dream is set on the campus at Brandeis University, the private research facility in Waltham, Massachusetts, known for its Nobel Prize Laureates. Its rigorous academics suggest the critical milieu in which to deepen conscious participation in my end time—No matter that I’m slipping, ever so slowly.

The natatorium holds deep waters, suggestive of the unconscious realm from whence dreams come. And like the Brandeis swimmer—an image of my positive animus—knifing his arms through tumultuous waters, I’m to continue catching dreams, one night at a time, and blogging them. And just as spectators offer roars of support for the swimmer’s new record, others will benefit from my continuing work.

I feel like I’m in training for the swim meet of my life.