Venice Vision
All the colors I most cherish drifted by as I floated down the Grand Canal. Rich but worn shades of orange, pink, golden yellow and blues meandered by, one after another. The water I floated on was a Caribbean aqua. It wrapped me in moist, balmy warmth. I viewed beautiful architecture while swimming beneath a vivid sapphire Italian sky. I felt released from struggle, free to spread myself far and wide. All my senses filled with wonder.
Admiring the city, suspended atop the Laguna Veneta, swimming in its resplendency, I reached my arms out wide in front of me, graceful as a sleek mermaid. Unaware of my body being ravaged, I was shapely and confident in my swim attire. I could feel the ripples of the sea swirling as I pushed forward in a breaststroke.
I turned, looked back to my right, and discovered a man swimming in the same style. Just behind him was a sweet boy, gliding along like a young swan. I gazed directly at the man as we exchanged a smile and shared the secret of being in a lovely dream together. It was euphoric, and I wondered in that split second, by the intimacy of the smile that passed between us, if this man and his boy would become my family.
I refocused on swimming free, with hands scooping turquoise colored liquid down to my sides, I tilted my head to the left to study the perfectly aged, sunburst orange, and terracotta pink grand structures of Venice once again.
And then, in that instant I woke, only wishing to fall back into the dream, over and over.
This dream swept into my subconscious before dawn, many years ago. It stayed with me, just as clear as it was that morning—this vision of Venice. I hold on to the idea that the colorful dream’s purpose was to ignite a blossom of hope in my heart. The visceral memory stayed close to me through surgeries and scars. I’ve replayed this vision before surgeries, and afterwards, on nights when I lay in bed with surgical tubes tethering drains spread out like the wingspan of a hawk.
This vision was the contrast I relied on when laying on a gurney, waiting to be rolled into the icy temperature of the efficient operating room. Through all of it, I had to carry something so beautifully alluring to avoid the possibility of spiraling into a black hole of nothing but survival.
Soon after I’d had this dream, long before the diagnosis of breast cancer, I described it to a close friend. It was so easy to recall because it was like a film running in my head.
She responded, “You want it all, don’t you?”
She’d acknowledged the “cake” of swimming in tropical water (instead of in the dirty canal waters) and the “eating it, too” of Venice.
Without a hint of modesty, I replied, “Yes!”
It was easy to figure out the meaning of this vision. I still aspire to being surrounded by resplendency in art and architecture while feeding my bliss in a turquoise ocean fit for the finest mermaid. I still yearn for a partner and family, and in the dream, there is a man close enough to direct a dazzling smile just for me. Although I’m at the age where a little boy would be a grandson, it speaks to a subconscious truth. Enjoying the memory of that watery dream, I decided that this man capable of emitting a magnetic force toward my being must possess shared desires and longings. Like all humans that inhabit this planet, it is connection I crave—love, in all its forms. This vision, although fantasy, in its most exquisite state, continues to fill me with desire, love, and appreciation.
I see so many people walking through life alone and daydreaming their way through it. Little things fulfill people, especially people like me: a kind smile, a welcomed compliment, coffee with a friend, conversations that keep us connected and grounded. We have different ways of coping with challenges and the overwhelming reality of facing them on our own. I find it easier to escape the harsher realities by concentrating on a pretty view, listening to birds singing like an orchestra plays, and feeling the vibration of hummingbirds over my head.
The ritual of tea with my hummingbirds provided me an unexpected healing. While sitting on the balcony at my studio in the hills, they would fly right up to me and stare into my eyes while their whirring wings became translucent. I’d hand-feed these richly colored hummies organic sugar water. They’d sit on my hand for a long drink of the nectar. The tender trust that grew between us gave me strength to trust myself and feel worthy of healing and recovery.
How do I remain optimistic when struggle and survival appear as daily companions? I marvel at the fortitude of other people who are fighting life-threatening illness. What do they do to get up every day, continuing their life with determination to carry long-held goals in their hearts? My experience led me to question how my mother, dying of breast cancer at such a young age in a hospital bed, dealt with her own dreams slipping away moment-by-moment. I work at ways to push away the trauma thrust upon me to make sacred space for imagining myself living out my loftiest aspirations.
No matter the challenge, any person can rise above it. The reality is it’s a cruel and all-consuming path few can relate to unless they’ve traveled it themselves. Medical environments can be an assault to the senses. Being a patient changes a person, rearranges their world and all who orbit it. It’s altered me and I’m sure I will forever discover ways it’s left an impact— good, and not-so-good.
Perhaps it’s time to marvel at my own strength and fierceness. The four years of being in a harsh medical spotlight illuminated my fear, vulnerability, and loneliness. It forced me over the median to a road of caution I did not anticipate. It was on the days when I felt an urgency to close my eyes and take a deep breath to empty myself of jarring lights, cold instruments, and endless needles when I recalled the precious Venice vision.
That dream. Light reflected in an apricot glow on patina-colored buildings, swimming to freedom in warm aqua blue water, and receiving a remarkable smile that can light up the blackest of nights.
-Valerie Anne Burns
As an emerging writer, Valerie Anne Burns has won writing scholarships to the 2019 Santa Barbara Writing Conference and to the 2016 Prague Summer Writing Program. This past fall, she spent a month in Italy starting with a retreat in September for breast cancer survivors in Cortona (Tuscany) where she was sponsored as a facilitator. Valerie Anne shared her workshop, “Healing and Living Through Color” created by a background in fashion and design, as well as blogging based on her own experiences and in relation to her collection of essays titled, Caution: Mermaid Crossing, Voyages of a Motherless Daughter. In addition, she runs her own business as a wardrobe and home décor makeover specialist. Before entrepreneurship, Valerie Anne worked in Hollywood on movie production, and then as a story editor for screenplays. Santa Barbara is home, and the place where she survived breast cancer. Being near the ocean brings out Valerie Anne's “inner mermaid,” and gives her the grace she needs to be a person and a writer. She is a seeker of beauty and--dark, rich espresso.