I had an incredibly vivid dream while napping, one that is still curling through my mind.

It started off in an abandoned house, a gang of young adults and small children relaxing in a brief moment of safety, having found a haven. The children were curled up on the ground, dozing off, and I stood next to a fellow warrior man, clad in black with blades at his side and a gun in his hand. His name was Hunter and he was fierce and beautiful. We heard the noises - the footsteps and the shrieks and the windows began to rattle with the smack of hands. I pulled my gun and other adults knelt down to wrap arms around the children who began to wail, sobbing with terror. Hunter fled the room and I followed, heading to a defensive position between the outside and the inner room of youngsters.

"I can't stand to hear them cry," he admitted, relief in his voice at having left the noise. Danger was better than listening to that noise. And danger was out there, and we were about to battle for our lives.

Then the dream shifted, and we were in a giant submarine. It was an enormous room with vaulted metal ceilings, a large circle in which hundreds of pallets had been spread out in various rows, like a starburst. People were reclined on the pallets, groups of youngsters in black and purple, the same colors everywhere because we were a family, this was our gang. I recognized faces as I walked by, people whom I had bled and cried for, whom I had laughed and smiled with.

But I walked the pallets, looking for Hunter, eyes searching constantly. When I did find him, he stood at the edge of the circle, dressed in the same black, but with a tribal mask over his face - horns and bones and leather. Several other people were around him, wearing the same kind of masks, but none as elaborate as his. A ritual had just finished, and he removed his mask when I approached. He wasn't the type to grin when I approached - he was too strong for that - too hard and edgy. But I could feel his calm pleasure at my appearance, and that made me grin. I wanted to soak up his strength, his savage courage and his dedication to the unit.

I heard startled gasps, and I looked over his shoulder to see that one of the giant submarine hatchway doors had begun to leak. Not just leak - water was pouring through the edges, and over the pallets. And chaos reigned. People were screaming, and I looked around frantically as I lost sight of my family members, the young men and women whom I loved with a primal ferocity. People were going to drown - we were all going to die, buried in a tomb under the waves.

And Hunter grabbed my hand, moving forward with that same courage, wrenching open the hatchway door. Not trying to stop the flow of the water, but hastening it. And I gasped in a giant lungful of air, just as he dove and pulled me with him, his legs kicking and his fingers painfully tight around my palm. And we swam, swam upwards and upwards and upwards, and I couldn't breathe and my chest was so tight and I couldn't see and I was going to die, but Hunter didn't stop swimming, didn't stop kicking his feet and dragging me along.

I woke up the moment our heads broke through the surface.

I recognize this Hunter - I have dreamed of him in many forms, both male and female. He is a part of myself, the subconscious personality that is Strong, a warrior bred to fight and curse and battle and never give up. The part that I have always hidden down. And now, my heart yearns for that. Yearns for Myself, yearns to find the wild vitality and tenacity, the primal Self. I don't know how to find It, how to embrace it again and become whole. Because it has the power to keep me from Drowning under the waves, the waters of fear and doubt and walls and anxiety. The riptides of the past. Instead of drowning, I need the Warrior Side to emerge and keep me kicking, keep me floating, keep me swimming ever upwards, always searching for the sun.

I need to find that part of myself again.