Chapter 18 | “The New Language of Love”

 

Through the Door of Dreams

That night, I had a strange dream.

In it, I stood before a translucent door, and on the other side—an endless field of golden light.
It wasn’t blinding, but soft. Like a mother’s embrace.
Like a smile from a long-forgotten memory.

The door wasn’t locked.
But I didn’t open it.

“Who are you afraid to meet?” a voice asked from within the dream.

I looked down.
In my hand was a faded piece of paper—
a drawing I’d made as a child:
a smiling version of myself, and a little star-cat that never left my side.

“You’re afraid to meet your real self.”

The voice was not accusing.
It was simply telling the truth.

And suddenly I wept.

I realized—we are not always afraid of darkness.
We are afraid of light.
Of the parts of us we’ve tried to deny.
Of the truths that shine too brightly.

“Are you ready?” the voice asked again.

I nodded.

The moment I opened the door, the dream fell silent.
The golden light didn’t pour onto me,
It poured from me—
as if I had always been part of that light.

In the dream, I said something.
And I remembered it upon waking:

“The furthest distance… is the forgetting of who I am.”

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