Part 3: How to Lose Your Mind and Still Guard the Pool. (Decoding Sarlons Dreams)

Part 3 of a dream dissection series where I pull apart my husband Sarlon White’s old dreams like we’re doing open-heart surgery with a crowbar. These aren’t just dreams — they’re emotional crime scenes, survival maps, and sacred punchlines. Buckle up. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna heal. It’s gonna be real.

The Itch, the Colors, and the Barracuda Baptism.

Here’s Some Context:

August 20, 2022.
(Right before the motel collapse. Still hanging onto life by a string. Pregnant wife. No home. No plan. Just survival and sky.)

Sarlon and Loui had just been hit with the eviction hammer.
They were floating between Airbnbs and raw panic.
One minute they were tattoo-rich and riding high.
The next minute they were staring down possible homelessness and a baby coming faster than the system could eat them alive.

There’s a word for that state:
Pre-molt panic.
When the old feathers are rotting but the new ones haven’t grown in yet.

This dream?
Yeah.
It caught the whole bloody molting in technicolor.

Full Dream Entry

Dream One:
A woman traveling with our group pulls her pants down and shows a red, itchy spot in her butt crack. She calls it a "corona." Everyone laughs at her.
I admit that I have the same itchy bump.

Dream Two:
Two patterns appear—one lavender, one light blue.
Lavender seems important.

Dream Three:
Loui puts two fish (like barracudas) in a pool.
She hands me a snow shovel (because obviously) and tells me to make sure neither fish escapes.
One fish—black—just flops peacefully.
The other fish—white and orange—keeps trying to jump out.
I keep blocking it with the shovel.
It never jumps out.

All of this takes place in a high school pool tucked below a staircase.

Surface Layer Magnifying Glass (a.k.a. “Welcome to Symbolic Ass-Cracks and Chaos”)

• Red Corona (Butt Rash): Humiliation. Survival wounds laid bare. No more pretending.

• Laughing Crowd: Society’s gleeful response to watching you fall apart.

• Admitting You Have the Same Bump: Radical honesty. No more hiding your wounds.

• Lavender and Light Blue Patterns: Spiritual purification (lavender) vs. expression and breath (light blue).

• Two Fish: Dual selves. Docile surrender vs. wild rebellion.

• Snow Shovel: Outdated tools trying to control new wild forces.

• High School Pool: Old programming. Where emotional survival rules were first installed.

Deep Psychological Dissection

(a.k.a. This Is Gonna Sting a Little)

First off:
The itchy butt dream?
That’s your dignity getting strip-mined by survival collapse.
You were exposed.
Ashamed.
And somehow still standing there, laughing nervously, admitting you’re wounded too.

Because pretending you were "fine" would’ve cost you your soul.

The lavender and light blue patterns?
Those are spiritual war banners.
Lavender whispering:

"You are grieving something sacred."

Light blue breathing:

"Speak anyway. Even if your voice shakes like hell."

The fish?
God, the fish.
The black one flopping peacefully was the part of you willing to trust the fall.
The white and orange barracuda?
The feral survivor in you that wasn’t going down without a brawl.
It didn’t want to stay trapped in a tiny chlorine coffin.
It wanted OUT.

(And spoiler: That wild orange bastard? He's the part that built your real life later.)

The snow shovel?
(laughs into oblivion)
It’s you trying to use tools made for an old season trying to manage chaos with politeness and misplaced survival instincts.
Trying to use "good manners" and "right timing" to hold back a revolution.
(spoiler: never works.)

Mythic Initiation Level (a.k.a. Molting Isn't Cute)

This wasn’ t just a survival dream.
This was a baptism by humiliation, sacred grief, and feral willpower.

You had to:

• Admit you were wounded.

• Recognize the soul’s need to fight and flow at the same time.\n

• Guard the sacred chaos inside you without killing it or setting it loose too early.

You didn’t lose the fish.
You didn’t break the pool.

You held the line long enough for real transformation to come.

Sacred Salvage: What Was Actually Saved

• Your ability to stand exposed and still stay human.

• Your respect for both surrender and fight.

• Your willingness to guard wildness even when your tools were laughably outdated.

(You weren’t failing.
You were being tempered.)

Pattern Notes Emerging:

🛠️ Public humiliation = Sacred exposure and soul detox
🛠️ Colors = Spiritual status signals
🛠️ Fish = Emotional energy forces (surrender vs. survival fight)
🛠️ Snow shovel = Outgrown survival tactics
🛠️ Pools = Places where old emotional rules were first installed

Feather Note to Past Sarlon

They laughed.
They stared.
They waited for you to drown.

But you stayed.
You guarded your own wild heart.

You didn’t need the old tools.
You were always the shovel.
You were always the pool.
You were always the storm coming.

💔 What pain or struggle is this blog addressing?

• Emotional collapse in public

• Being laughed at while breaking down

• Using outdated coping tools to contain sacred rage

• Trying to survive while molting into something new

• Fear of losing control or doing healing “wrong”

🔮 What’s the sacred transformation or takeaway?

This wasn’t failure. This was a baptism by chaos.
The reader leaves knowing that they weren’t “too much” or “messy”—they were becoming. They learn that wildness doesn’t need to be tamed, just guarded long enough to transform. It’s okay not to look holy while you heal. You were always the shovel. You were always the storm coming.

🪶 Coming Next:

Entry 4: The Bungee Tightrope and the Quarter of Shame
(a.k.a. Poverty Olympics, starring Emotional Debt and Generational Burnout!)