Crossing the River: A Dream About Letting Go ~ Damselfly Lessons Along The Way

Last night, I had one of those dreams that sticks with you — the kind you can feel in your chest even after you're awake.

In the dream, I was part of a group that had rented a big cabin.
From the start, I knew something was wrong. I could see what was going to happen — people turning on each other, some trying to escape into a freezing winter wilderness and not making it.
There was one woman I recognized, someone familiar, and she was the only one I knew would survive.

The whole time, I kept trying to gather everyone together.
I wanted to warn them — to explain that we didn’t have to end up this way.
That if we stuck together, listened, chose differently, things could turn out better.
But no matter what I did, I couldn’t change it.

At one point, I looked out the window and saw a wide river running past the cabin.
Across the river, I could see homes — places where there was warmth, safety, help.
For a moment, I thought, why aren’t we going there?
But I realized it wasn’t possible — not from where we were. The river was too wide, too strong.
We were cut off.

When I woke up, the meaning hit me hard.

It’s about those moments in life when you can see how things could be different — how healing, connection, peace are possible — but you can’t make other people choose it.
You can’t cross the river for them.
You can’t build the bridge all by yourself.

Sometimes, you have to accept that not everyone is ready to change.
Not everyone can hear the warning.
And as heartbreaking as it is, you have to choose your own survival — your own peace — even if it means leaving the cabin behind.

That one woman who escaped in my dream?
That was me.
The part of me that knows it’s okay to move on, even when it hurts.
The part of me that trusts there’s a life waiting across the river — even if I have to cross it alone.

This dream didn’t just stir up sadness; it reminded me that grief and strength can live side by side.
That letting go isn’t about giving up on people — it’s about not giving up on myself.

If you’re standing at a river right now — looking at everything you wish could be different — know this: