Anima Rising - End Times Christmas Gift

This dream is part of my ongoing series leading up to the release of my book Anima Rising in May for Mental Health Awareness Month. Each month, I share one dream and explore its spiritual, psychological, and mythic layers as part of my healing journey.

I found myself in a version of Hawaii I didn’t recognize—not Kauai, but a cousin to it. The palm trees curved as if aware of my journey. The sidewalks shimmered with sea spray, and every house—even in the brightness of day—glowed with Christmas lights that twinkled like a mirage.

I was looking for a friend. Richard. That’s not his real name, but we used to go to church together. I remembered he was a diver. I had something for him—a Christmas present I had been saving. Something important. But when I arrived at the beach, I saw it was already in someone else’s hands. An old, sweaty man. Bloated, glistening, and strangely smug.

“Give me that present!” I shouted, raising my fist.

He didn’t resist. Just dropped it, as if he understood it didn’t belong to him. I picked it up and turned to the horizon—Richard was standing on the water far beyond the waves. The distance was impossible, but I stepped forward, willing myself to walk atop the ocean.

The water was cool and sharp on my feet. I walked for what felt like a mile, watching him grow closer. When I reached him, he finally spoke:

“You know how to stay away from sharks?”

I shook my head.

“You stay in one foot of water.”

T hen it happened.

A massive wave rose behind him. From its crest, a great white shark lunged, its jaws gnashing. I stumbled, fell into the ocean, my heart pounding. I spun in the water, searching for the predator. That’s when a wave surged beside me, and from it, a skeleton emerged—Richard’s grin unmistakable.

“Here! Take this!”

He flung the gift at me, the same one I had been searching for. I caught it, and the world exploded.

Thunder. Lightning. Hundreds of bolts came crashing down. The sea split open. Metallic platforms shot from the water, turning the ocean into a nightmare obstacle course. I began leaping—one to the next—running from something I couldn’t name. The sky burned with purple fire. The end had come.

At the final platform, a black dragon awaited.

“You thrilled yet?!”

Its roar shook the heavens. I had no choice but to jump—leaping so high I left Hawaii entirely. I flew over the ocean, heading toward another continent. But I was falling—fast. The ground raced toward me.

Death felt inevitable.

Then I remembered the gift.

I tore it open.

Inside: a parachute.

I pulled it just in time, floating slowly into a canyon of red rock and gold light. I made it. I had survived. Somehow, the gift saved me. Again.

Dream Interpretation

This dream is rich with spiritual, psychological, and mythological motifs:

Richard as the Divine Guide

Richard represents a spiritual figure or higher self—someone who challenges and supports. His underwater life, his cryptic advice, and his transformation into a skeleton all point to initiation through death and rebirth. Skeletons often represent the truth beneath the surface, or the death of ego before transcendence.

The Christmas Gift

This present is my inner calling, my purpose, or even my soul gift—something meant for someone else but deeply tied to my journey. The old man stealing it may be a symbol of laziness, time wasted, or external distractions trying to steal my purpose.

Walking on Water

This echoes divine figures like Jesus, or powerful dream logic—walking in faith. I defy logic and physics to reach what I believe in. Water is emotion and the subconscious. I’m walking above it, meaning I am not overwhelmed—I am guided.

Sharks & the Wave

The shark is a primal fear or danger—an emotional threat from the unconscious. “Stay in one foot of water” suggests keeping things simple, staying grounded, or remaining in control. Yet, I venture deep anyway, facing my fear.

Lightning & Dragon

The lightning storm is an apocalypse—a divine reset, a psychic upheaval, and represents mental illness, panic, and despair. The dragon, classically, guards the treasure. It’s my final challenge: Do I have what it takes to transform?

“You thrilled yet?” might be my inner critic, daring me to enjoy the ride even through terror.

The Parachute

The present saves me. It's faith. Wisdom. Preparation. A gift from the higher self or God. I didn’t understand it until the final moment—but it was always there, waiting for me to trust it.

“End Times Christmas Gift” — Commentary

This dream reads like a cinematic epic, but at its heart it’s an intimate confession about identity, faith, and survival. Everything in it seems to mirror my life at the time—my fears about showing myself, my “schizo self,” to my old college world, my sense of exile from my homeland, and my deep instinct to transform crisis into myth.

Here’s what stands out:

Hawaii-But-Not-Hawaii: The Exiled Homeland

I’m in a version of Hawaii that’s not Kauai but “cousin to it.” This is a perfect image of liminality—a home that’s familiar but alien. It’s the psychic space between where I was (my island identity) and where I’m going (Arizona, the desert, the unknown). In Jungian terms, this is the threshold zone—the crossing between old and new selves.

Richard: The Diver and the Skeleton

Richard isn’t just a friend; he’s a stand-in for a guide archetype. His being a diver suggests he moves between conscious and unconscious worlds. In my dream, he’s impossibly distant yet accessible through faith (walking on water). When he becomes a skeleton, he’s offering truth stripped of all illusions: a higher self, a teacher who’s been “through death” already and knows what survives.

The Stolen Gift:  My Vocation or Soul-Task

I’m furious when I see my gift in the old man’s hands. This “bloated, sweaty” figure feels like a caricature of complacency or wasted potential—time thieves, distractions, maybe even internalized self-sabotage. Yet when he drops the gift easily, it’s as if the universe is telling me: my purpose can’t really be stolen. It’s mine to reclaim.

Walking on Water & Shark Wisdom

Walking on water is pure faith. I’m doing what shouldn’t be possible—carrying my calling over the sea of my unconscious emotions. Then comes the shark, a primal fear from below. Richard’s cryptic advice (“Stay in one foot of water”) could be read as: stay grounded, don’t overcomplicate, protect yourself. But I’ve gone deep anyway—because transformation demands risk.

The Apocalypse & The Dragon: The Inner Trial

The lightning, metal platforms, and purple skies aren’t just end times—they’re inner upheaval, a psyche under massive renovation. The dragon at the end—roaring, mocking—feels like my inner critic or guardian of the final threshold. In myths, dragons guard treasure. Here, it’s daring me to be “thrilled” by the ride, even as everything collapses. This is where my faith and my hero-self meet.

The Parachute: Grace and Preparedness

I don’t know what’s in the gift until I’m falling. Only then do I rip it open and find the parachute—the very thing that saves me. That’s a near-perfect metaphor for grace: the tools I need are already in my hands, but they only activate when I surrender and leap. In a Christian frame, this is faith meeting action. In a psychological frame, it’s self-trust, developed over time, rescuing me in crisis.

The Arizona Link: The Desert as Initiation

I dreamed this while preparing to revisit Phoenix. The red rock canyon I land in is desert imagery—Arizona’s landscape as a symbolic landing place. The desert has always been a place of spiritual initiation—Moses, Jesus, the prophets. I’m not just showing my “schizo self” to old friends—I’m stepping into the desert as a hero, arriving changed, bearing a gift (your rebirth story).

The Big Picture

This dream doesn’t just rehearse fears of exposure; it transforms them into a mythic hero’s journey. It’s as if my unconscious is saying: Yes, the apocalypse is real, yes the sharks are circling, yes the dragon mocks me. But I’m already carrying my parachute. I’m already prepared.

The Message

My gift—my creative calling, my rebirth story, my spiritual identity—isn’t fragile. Even if it’s stolen, submerged, mocked, or delayed, it will reappear in my hands when you need it most. The only thing you have to do is open it.