^{Photo by Илья Мельниченко on Unsplash}

^{Narrated by Kelly Wilkinson}

Dear Dreamer, 

Dreams are strange. 

Sometimes they’re vivid and meaningful. Other times, they’re completely abstract, like the feeling of trying to run when everything is in slow motion. Some dreams are tied to something we’re feeling or fearing, and are easy to interpret. Others leave us puzzled, unsettled, or laughing the moment we wake up. Sometimes we don’t dream at all — or at least, we don’t remember. 

What if your dreams are trying to tell you something? 

Not just random thoughts or midnight noise — but real messages. From your spirit. Your ancestors. A part of you that sees what your waking mind can’t. 

I’ve always dreamed vividly. Sometimes I’m aware it’s happening; I can shift the dream, open a door, or speak directly to someone who’s passed on. At other times, the dream speaks to me through symbols, memories, or moments that blur the line between imagination and reality. I’ve walked through houses I’ve never seen in real life, spoken with ancestors and great figures I’ve never met, and carried whole conversations back with me into the waking world. I have also experienced astral projection — where you leave your body entirely during sleep. It feels like stepping into another realm that my soul already remembers. 

I can’t be the only one. Dreamwork isn’t new. It’s ancient! 

The Babylonians carved dreams into clay tablets. In Chamorro, hinasso refers to thoughts and dreamlike reflections. Indigenous cultures around the world have used dreams for healing, hunting, prophecy, and initiation. Even modern psychology considers dreams a bridge to the unconscious. 

That’s why I created Dream Letters, a sacred space for community-submitted dreams, and my intuitive interpretations of what they might mean. This is not therapy. It’s not fortune telling. It’s soulwork — a way to honor the symbols we’re given in sleep and to listen, gently, to the in between. 

In each issue, I’ll share a dream — sometimes my own, sometimes yours — and offer a reflection from that threshold space. If you’ve ever woken up wondering, What did that dream mean? … this space is for you. 

I have a strong calling to this work. Not just to interpret dreams, but to help others make sense of what they’re feeling, and seeing with their mind's eye. As a modern-day fafa’nå’gue (a spiritual guide in the Chamorro tradition), I carry the responsibility of listening deeply to dreams, to symbols, and to what our spirits might be asking us to remember. 

This column is for exploring the weird, wonderful spaces where meaning hides in symbols, and the unknown speaks in riddles. Dreams are not random; think of them as invitations. 

This column, Dream Letters, is an offering. 

A place for us to explore the space between sleep and soul. 

I’ll begin with one of my own.

Threshold Walker 

I had a dream where I was lying in a dark room, deeply asleep, when I felt someone push my right arm. 

It was my grandmother. 

She leaned in urgently and said, “Wake up! I don’t have enough time.” 

And then, I did wake up. My left hand was squeezing around my arm — not in the dream, but in real life. Eyes wide, heart pounding, I tried to process what had just happened. 

Not even a minute later, I heard a soft knock on my door. My auntie opened it slowly, letting the kitchen light spill in. 

“Keena,” she said, “Grandma wants to see you.” It was 5:55am! 

I walked barefoot down the cold hallway. Her room was at the end. 

I stepped in and said, “Yes, Grandma? You’re calling me?” 

She looked at me softly and said, “Yes. I just wanted to tell you I love you. I just wanted to see you.” 

It was the last time she spoke to me. She passed away shortly after. 

My grandmother had stage four cancer. Her body was here, but her spirit was already shifting. Every day, she drifted a little further between this world and the next. And I’ve wondered ever since: Was it just a dream, or did her spirit reach out to me before her voice left her body? 

My interpretation: 

This wasn’t just a dream. I know that in my bones! It was a visitation. 

My grandmother was already walking between realms. Her body hadn’t stopped, but her spirit was in motion. When she pushed my arm in the dream and said, “Wake up! I don’t have enough time,” it wasn’t symbolic. It was a clear message — immediate and urgent. She was reaching across the veil to make sure I’d be fully present for the last words she’d ever say to me. 

Spirit doesn’t wait for the knock at the door. 

Spirit comes first in the stillness, in the dream, in the space where language is energy. 

The time on the clock, 5:55am, wasn’t a coincidence, either. In numerology, 555 is the number of transformation, transition, and divine alignment. I believe she knew I would etch that moment into my memory, that it would stay with me, clear and permanent. 

And because I’ve always dreamed vividly and experienced astral projections early on in life, I already knew how to listen. Her spirit called to mine and I woke up — not just from sleep, but into something sacred. 

Reflection prompt: 

Who in your life might be calling you to wake up — softly, urgently, lovingly — while there’s still time? What might your dreams be trying to tell you, if you gave them more space to speak?

Submit your dream!