I had a dream where I was in the company of a grandmother helping her stir a large cauldron of soup. Peeking inside, I noticed its contents were white and the soup contained nothing more than celery and potatoes.
"Wheatgrass, too," she added, reading my thoughts.
Motioning for me to take a seat upon the ground, she placed in my hands a bowl of soup to hold.
"I would like to tell you a story about solvency," she said. I nod my head in agreement.
"There once was a girl who was made entirely of salt. Naturally, she lived with many rules. 'Don't play out in the rain!' Her mother would warn. 'And you mustn't stay too long in the sun!'
"But the girl, she was very brave. She would splash in a puddle here and there then stand in the heat of the sun to dry. When the scorching days of summer became too restrictive and too drying, she would dip herself into a pool just for a second or two to loosen things up. Every day, she would do this–-back and forth she'd go from wet to dry, and dry to wet.
"One day, there was a torrential rain which caused a massive flood through her village. Very quickly the waters grew inescapably high. With no rooftop tall enough to stand upon and no sun available to dry her, she succumbed to the flood and dissolved into its waters. Where others imagined her life would end, she discovered it began. No longer was she forced to choose between one state and another. Instead, she was reborn into what she was always destined to be--the salt of the sea."
I watch my grandmother with a wide-eyed expression for a moment, finally asking, "So you're saying I should expect to feel like I'm drowning soon?"
"What I'm saying" she echoes with a smile, "is for you to eat your soup."