She walks without a sound, glides actually, along the riverbank amongst the trees. Her long dark hair is in windswept layers, trailing carefree and soft over her shoulders and down her back. She wears a white cotton summer dress over bare feet or sandals, I can’t tell, because her steps are soundless as if she innately belongs in, or to, the forest. Maybe it’s the forest that belongs to her.

On the other side of the river I lie resting in a hammock with one bare foot in the cool grass, gently rocking myself. I gaze above at the magnificence of the wide-spreading treetops and the dappled sunlight peeking through the many leaves. The sound of the water gently moving along lulls me into a melodic rhythm with the hammock and the swaying of the leaves.

The vision of her appears first in my mind. Then I turn my head to find her there, on the path across the river. She does not see me. At least, if she knows I’m there she doesn’t look my way. She is intent on enjoying the surrounding nature and nothing else. Her fingers caress the tall grasses lovingly and she smiles with genuine pleasure to be among God’s beautiful art.

She is silent, but her presence is immense. I can feel her strength from across the river. It is so powerful that if she were to look at me it would strike a sharp fear in my gut. Her eyes would be piercing green, I’m sure of it, like that of a white tiger, annoyed at having been distracted by an insignificant field mouse. Perhaps it’s just that I don’t feel worthy of her gaze. She is everything I wish to be. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.

I cannot stop staring at her. I stop rocking in the hammock and slip to the ground, trying to make myself as small as I feel.  I try to hide so I can watch her without being detected. It makes me feel even more pathetic, but I have to look as long as possible so that maybe I can learn to be even a fraction of her likeness.

She is whole. She is perfect. She exudes strength and power. Yet, she is also loving and harmonious. And I can tell she is healthy and happy. She knows beyond any doubt that she is all of these things and revels in the joy of it all every moment. Is she even real?

Suddenly, the ground beneath me starts to break away. I reach for something to grab to keep from tumbling in the water, but there is nothing. Terror strikes through me as I realize the water current has become much stronger, faster and rougher. I can’t scream. The sound won’t emerge from my throat. It is too constricted with fear. I slide down the bank feet first on my stomach, my arms reaching wildly, grabbing for anything, but it is too late. My body plunges into the deep, cold water. It is a shock to my core.

Frantically, I kick and flail to get to the surface for air.  Treading water and fighting to keep my head above the rushing rapids, I see people in rowboats coming.  Desperate to get their attention for help I try to call out, but the sound is quickly swallowed up by the thunderous current.

As the people get closer, I see it is my family and I start to feel relief at the hope of being rescued. I reach out to grab an oar, but my mother slaps the water with it and yells, “Shame on you! Get out of there and stop making a scene!” My sister looks at me with disgust and rolls her eyes. My brother does not pay attention to me at all and my father is watching a handheld t.v. and eating popcorn, completely oblivious to the world.  They float past and leave me to figure it out on my own or die.  Either way it wouldn’t matter to them.

Another boat comes by.  My ex-husband is in it.  He is staring at me with that annoying look of pure, self-centered ego.  “This is my boat,” he says.  “Get your own.”  His high-pitched giggle vibrates in my water-logged ears as he floats away.  In that instant I decide I’d rather die than get in his boat anyway.

Suddenly, a firm hand grips my forearm and pulls me out of the river onto the opposite bank.  It is the woman I’d been watching.  She smiles warmly, softly, at me, patiently waiting as I cough and gasp needlessly until I realize I’m perfectly fine, perfectly safe.  Just dripping wet and feeling quite foolish.

“Thank you,” I manage to croak.

She continues to smile and reaches out to me.  I reach out in turn to grasp her hand and confirm my sincere and deep gratitude for saving my life.  But, I cannot grasp it.  It is a mist. Her whole form is but a misty shape of a beautiful woman.

No, wait.  Am I the mist?

I reach out again and as our hands touch, they meld into one and begin to glow.  She steps closer and closer.  With each step our bodies combine into one being.  The knowledge that I am she and she is me flows through me – us.  Of course, she knew all along.  She had been there all along, waiting for me to figure it out, waiting for me to find her.

I don’t need to look back at the river to know that the boats and the people in them are gone.  They will no longer know me anyway.  I have saved myself.  I have saved myself from all of them.  And more importantly, I have saved myself from the empty shell of a woman that had been on the other side just a short time ago.

Her name is Serah.  My name is Serah.

My children and my husband appear on the path.  They are cheerful, confident and secure.  And I feel nothing less than ‘whole, perfect, strong, powerful, loving, harmonious, healthy and happy’¹.

 

¹Charles F. Haanel