Three dreams in about three weeks’ time were all telling me the same thing. I felt stuck. In fact in the last dream, it was so blatant I was telling a friend quite directly, “I feel stuck.”

He pointed to the edge of the property, and I told him I had already been there and it wasn’t far enough. Clearly there was someplace beyond the boundaries of my current reality that I was compelled to experience.

I was feeling stuck about a lot of things—my career, my income, my service through the foundation and my relationship with my husband. Nothing felt bad. I just felt as though I wasn’t making any progress.

Then there were the other dreams—the ones in which I was with the water experiencing bliss and a state of transcendent awareness. My subconscious was taking me into a far more fulfilling reality of awareness and I wanted more of it. What I couldn’t figure out was to how to bring that state of consciousness into my daily, practical life.

So after awakening from my most recent “stuck” dream, I took this feeling of stuckness into compassion and sat with it. I didn’t try to fix myself or do anything with the feeling of stuckness. I simply witnessed the feeling in compassion. Emerging from the silence I received some clear guidance that has been helping me.

This is what I heard: “Misa, think of it this way. You don’t have to know the outcome. Simply open to the wonderful reality waiting for you on the other side of the stuckness.”

“Pretty good,” I thought, as I came out of my meditation. “That was very wise advice.”

This concept reminded me of advice I received some years ago from a woman making her living as a fiber artist. I was thinking about leaving my job to create a consulting practice, so I asked if I could interview her as someone I knew who was a successful entrepreneur. She invited me over to her house for a cup of tea and shared with me aspects of her journey.

What I remember most from that interview is what she said and did as I left her house. She walked out the door with me, firmly closing the screen door behind her and said, “You have to close the door of the past behind you. Then step out into the world.” Throwing her arms up and looking up into the clouds, she glowed as she continued with her last words of advice, “Then simply say, ‘Shower on me, world.’”

In a world where we are taught to know the outcome, set our goals and objectives, and establish our action steps for success, the concept of opening to the unknown with arms wide open proclaiming, “Shower on me, world,” might seem a bit absurd. However, I followed her advice those many years ago, and did quite well as a consultant. Now, I did incorporate some good planning skills, once the outcome began to present itself to me. I believe those planning skills worked well because first I threw open my arms and heart to the unknown, undefined, wonderful reality that was waiting for me—a far greater outcome than I might have imagined from my more earth-bound thoughts.

I found a balance between the masculine energy of planning in order to create and the feminine energy of opening to a greater, yet unknown possibility. I recognized that my soul, before coming to earth, chose an ultimate experience that I hadn’t remembered yet. By opening to an unremembered, yet available and wonderful reality, I found myself riding within a current that carried me far more easily into fulfillment than a more limited outcome I might have otherwise chosen.

As I reflect now upon opening up my heart to the wonderful unknown reality waiting for me, I am expectant, like an adventurer launching my ship into uncharted waters. My senses are alert and I must be respectful of and in relationship with the water itself in order to be safe. If I cling to the shores in fear, I won’t get very far at all, so I must surrender to the sea itself. As I do, little miracles start showing up—each affirming the greater reality that I have welcomed, and I am beyond my stuckness.

For reflections about the powerful relationships between humans and water read more of our blog articles and meditations.