Tea Made From Seawater

Warm liquid pours from the spout and into my teacup. As I hold it out for her, my palms grow hotter with the cups increasing weight. I can make out a faint green shade coming from the teapot. Steam rises, filling the room steadily with the smell of sage. She cuts the stream and sets the teapot down. The china against her wood coffee table makes a faint sound, one barely audible under the distant crashing of Atlantic ocean waves. Lei leans back in her seat that faces me, grabbing a notepad and pen. I admire the view of the ocean through floor to ceiling windows.

“This weather would be especially gloomy if we didn’t live by the sea, hm?” I hear the click of her pen as Lei flips through what I assume is my file.

“Yeah, we’re lucky to be near the ocean.” I reply warmly, my gaze still adrift on the outside scene. Once the heat against my palms becomes uncomfortable, I set the cup down. “So-” crossing her legs, Lei brings the pen to paper; “how are the nightmares?” The smell of sage rises into me as I stare down at my drink. It's not like I’m at fault, but I feel bad that everything we’ve tried until now hasn’t worked. I guess the thought is evident on my face because I hear Lei scribble something down. I feel my chest starting to tighten up so I grab the cup for a quick sip. Sage tea heats my throat and momentarily flounders the discomfort. “I wake up disturbed.” I say semi-abruptly, having found the courage to be vulnerable.

I see her glance at the dark circles under my eyes and note her concern. My absence of quality sleep has been capsizing my work. It’s gotten bad enough that I’m close to registering into a sleep clinic, but I’d really like to avoid getting to that point. “I’m sorry to hear it, Nami,” says Lei sympathetically. I admire the pastel aqua coating her office walls and its white wooden trimming. I hear the ocean waves, I feel the cloud loveseat underneath me, and taste lingering traces of sage in my mouth. Lei watches me as I anchor myself, once I settle she asks: “Nami have you ever heard of ‘lucid dreaming’?” The term piques my interest: “No, I haven’t.” 

“Well,” my therapist adjusts her seating position; “It’s when the dreamer realizes that they are in a dream.” Letting the concept sink in, I take a sip of my drink. I can see the ghost of a smile on her lips, as though baiting me to engage rather than listening passively. I don’t bite, so she continues. “It’s a useful skill in dealing with nightmares. Other than messing around with the dream world, lucid dreaming can also be utilized in solving problems. Certain athletes have even been known to hone their craft through lucid dreaming.” Becoming conscious in a nightmare feels like diving into confined waters; the thought is both frightening and empowering to me. Lei mindlessly taps the pen against her notebook as I realize this lifeline she’s thrown likely won’t work. 

She cocks her head: “Nami, what are we thinking of right now?” Having cooled down, I nurse my drink and admire the waves. “It seems like a stretch Lei- and besides I’ve never had a lucid dream before.” I say this defeatedly and drain my cup. Nodding, it's now her turn to glance outside. “I think it’s worth a shot; that is if you still want the sleep clinic to be a last resort,” she says. “I’m not a ‘lucid dreamer’,” I repeat with the weight of having exhausted all my options. Lei looks at me with a soft smile: “It can be taught.”

Back at home, I follow all of my therapist’s instructions meticulously. After rummaging around old school assignments and supplies ; I manage to find an empty notebook. I set the intention to improve my dream recall by leaving it near me as I sleep, with the hopes of writing down my remembrances. Despite it feeling trivial, I meditate while repeating my goal for the night. It's around this point I feel my heart beat bolster with anxiety. My body stiffens as the unavoidable dread of nightmares kicks in. I want to harbor myself by watching a show as I fall asleep; but blue light before bed lowers my chances for lucidity, so I decide against it.

Regardless of my efforts, I wake up in tears. As though someone is sitting on my chest, I feel myself sink into my mattress. My hands buzz and moisten with balminess. Needing this experience to be over, I will myself out of my linen sheets. I open the sliding door to my balcony and step out into the night’s fresh air. I live farther away from the ocean than Lei does, so my waves consist of kitschy pastel-coloured houses. Wherever you are in Maine, the salty and fishy humidity finds you; giving promise of nearby seawater. I breathe in the familiar scent with fondness and feel my nerves start to subside. My eyelashes are still dewy from crying, but the tears have stopped rolling down my cheeks. 

“Oh, Nami” Lei says sympathetically, rubbing her forefinger and thumb across her eyebrows. It’s been a week since our last session and I haven’t made much progress with my nightmares. I draw mindless patterns on my mug as she processes the attempt. My nail makes an occasional tink sound against the ceramic cup. “Well it’s not often people will achieve lucidity so quickly, unfortunately-” I sip my tea as I listen to her. “-but that doesn’t mean you won’t get there.” I watch her sleek bob sway with aquatic synchronism to her movements. I know the dark circles under my eyes have deepened. Brushing my teeth this morning, I noticed budding acne marks in my reflection.

“But tell me Nami, how does the lucid ‘training’ make you feel? Separately from the nightmares.” I ponder her question as I stare down at the earl grey tea I’m holding. Its bitter bergamot aroma curls around me, settling my restless barge. “My overall quality of sleep has improved,” I admit. She seems pleased by this and scribbles something in her notepad. “That tends to be the case,” Lei says, “lucid dreaming usually comes about with proper sleep hygiene. How does it feel to be going to bed with the intention of trying to achieve lucidity, rather than avoiding nightmares?” I can see where she’s going with this: “I dread going to bed less. Although I’m still struggling, I think my relationship with sleep is changing.” This statement clearly being what Lei wanted to hear; she notes it down contently.

Over the course of the following weeks; I prioritize my bedtime routine more than anything else. The nightmares don’t necessarily stop, but I’m also remembering my dreams more often in contrast. Just a little past midnight, I get out of bed with drumming anxiety as usual. I put on a chunky knit crewneck and go to the kitchen to prepare some tea. Tonight, I steep chamomile tea leaves; watching them sink to the bottom of my thermos under the weight of hot water. After screwing its lid on, I head out to my balcony under the gentle darkness of night. I breathe in the familiar sea breeze, wishing I lived near enough to the ocean to hear crashing waves. I rest my forearms on the metal railing and exhale my frustrations. At times these nightmares feel like memories. It’s been weeks. Although generally my sleep has improved, I still wake up and fall asleep anxious. Not to mention that I haven't got to experience these illustrious ‘lucid dreams’ yet. I’m starting to think I won’t; it seems too good to be true. 

Just like all our other sessions, we start by Lei pouring my tea. I notice that the stream is a light burgundy colour and my nose doesn’t recognize the floral scent. She answers my question before I ask it; “Hibiscus petals. Makes for a tart drink, but is very soothing nonetheless.” Lei sets the pot down and sits. As I’ve done countless times; I watch the steam rise and mentally prepare the things I want to mention. “I’m frustrated,” I start. Lei takes her pen in hand as I continue: “ I’m sleeping better, but the nightmares still wake me up at night.” I can hear indescrip scribbling. Giving her a chance to note what I said, I bring my attention outside. Clouds are darkening on the precipice of rainfall. I must seem unnerved because Lei coaxes me to drink: “Have a sip, seawater is medicine.” I repeat her words in my head and ask: “Did you say ‘seawater’?” She nods, finishing up the sentence she’s writing. I reiterate: “This pot of tea was brewed with seawater?” With another unemotive nod, she glances up at me. I’m confused and a little disgusted. Even so, her expression shows such sincerity that I assume to be the ignorant one. With my initial shock settling, I bring the cup to my lips; despite it still seeming odd. Lei smiles at me like she’s in on a joke I’m not a part of.

The strong flavour coats my tongue and it dawns on me: today’s session is a dream. Lei smirks throughout my realization and continues to drink the seawater tea. “Congratulations,” she says. Remembering what to do once becoming lucid; I focus on my senses to anchor the dream. Sense of smell; despite being in a building, the salty ocean breeze finds me. Sight; glancing outside, the storm parts to reveal heavenly rays skimming the clouds. Touch; other than the velvety couch beneath me, warm liquid sunlight flows jubilantly through my veins. Taste; the hibiscus residue from my hot drink. Sound; this was the easiest, crashing waves and crying seagulls.

Setting the cup down, my body buoys towards the window. With the sense of complete possibility that comes with lucid dreaming, I realized that I wasn’t afraid of a nightmare manifesting itself. There was this sense of knowing that I’d be in no real danger and it was empowering. I bring my fingertips to touch the glass, only to find them leaving the building. Stepping back, I waste no time and dive into the Atlantic waters. My body feels just as careless and overwhelmed as I imagine it would be in a real free fall. Reaching what feels like the middle of an ocean, I carry a trail of bubbles and current behind me. I breathe beneath the waves. Facing my back towards the sand, I look up at the distorted sky and let myself capsize.