One sultry night while I was living in India, recovering from two major surgeries, I had a dream. I dreamed that I woke up and realized I could fly, so I stepped outside my house and flew into the air. I soared towards a massive Gothic Cathedral. I thought that edifice was my destination, but then I sailed right through it. As I passed beyond its last spire, I looked down upon a bustling town square. I swooped towards a young man who was bent in his hurry across the expanse. I whispered in his ear, "I love you." The magic was such that he did not hear me. Instead, he heard that blessing as from within himself. He suddenly felt lovable and whole. He stood taller. Then he said to himself, "I will go home and tell my wife how much I love her." I flew off to whisper into others' ears the love that they so needed. As I woke, I gasped, "That is what we get to do when we are dead! We get to fly around and bless people with love!"
Only later, I realized that is also what I hope to do in my writing. I want to be one of the many writers who help others rediscover who they are and why they are here, and give them encouragement to grasp hold of this one sacred life that we have.