When the Cry Would Not Let Me Go

When the Cry Would Not Let Me Go

A Reflection on the Dream of August 31, 2025

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

On the night of August 31, 2025, I had a dream that wouldn’t leave me alone. Some dreams slip out the back door as soon as you open your eyes, but not this one. It stuck to me. It breathed beside me. It kept whispering in my ear, even as I got up and tried to move on with the day. I knew right then it came when it was supposed to come.

I was standing outside under that wide-open sky that makes you feel small and seen all at once. The air was heavy but alive, almost humming, like silence with a heartbeat. I could feel the Creator there. Watching. Waiting. Sitting in that stillness with me.

Then I saw her a woman at work, caught up in some fight for survival. You know how it is we see people wrestling with their own battles and think, that’s not mine to carry. I told myself the same. I stayed back. I kept my distance. But the thing is when the Creator wants to teach you, the storm doesn’t stay in someone else’s yard. It walks right into yours.

The dream shifted. Suddenly, she wasn’t a woman anymore she was a girl. Thirteen years old. Dressed in green and white, trembling but holding on to me like I was her last chance. Tears poured down her cheeks, and with a voice that broke and burned at the same time, she cried, “Help me. Take me with you.”

Her words tore through me. Thirteen. That number isn’t just an age it’s the edge of two worlds. The last breath of childhood, the first knock of adulthood. That awkward, holy in-between.

I tried to shake it off. No, it can’t be. But she wouldn’t release me. Her hand clamped down tighter, her tears came harder, and her voice, though fragile, carried something heavier than I could explain. That’s when it hit me she wasn’t just some random girl. She was me. My younger self. The version of me still waiting for rescue. The part of me that trembles quietly, still hoping not to be left behind.

She wasn’t just a child she was a messenger.

The Creator had wrapped a message in her innocence. She wore green the color of growth, of healing that rises out of broken ground. And white the color of light, of purity, of spirit. Together, those colors told me this wasn’t chance. This was vision. This was revelation.

And it came on that night August 31, 2025.

When I looked closer, even the numbers carried a voice. Thirty-one becomes four: foundation. Grounding. Building. August, the eighth month: cycles, balance, transformation. The year 2025 folds down to nine: endings, completion, the holy closing of one door before another opens. And the whole date, reduced, becomes three: expression, creativity, the Spirit breathing out through word.

It was all there, hidden in plain sight. A coded message written by the Universe: Lay the foundation (4). Embrace the cycle of transformation (8). Accept the completion (9). And out of it, speak with divine expression (3).

That dream wasn’t random. It was timed. It was sealed.

And the girl? She wasn’t pleading just for survival. She was demanding that I face myself. That I finally carry the parts of me I had tried to outrun. That I stop leaving behind what still needed healing.

It reminded me of seeds. Buried in silence, ignored, sometimes forgotten but when their season comes, they split open. That girl was the seed in me, waiting for her moment, and August 31 was her season.

It reminded me of rivers too. Rivers stretch wide, carve valleys, feed everything in their path, but they always remember their source. Cut them from it, and they dry up. She was my source. Without her, my river runs dry.

And mountains. People see mountains as unshakable, eternal but they began as trembling earth forced upward. That girl in green and white was the trembling in me, preparing to rise. Her tears weren’t weakness they were the water of transformation. Her grip wasn’t desperation it was destiny refusing to be ignored.

And as I sat with the dream, this little story came to me:

A shepherd once saw a lamb stuck in the mud. He kept walking, thinking, it’s not mine to rescue. But the cries followed him with every step. Finally, he turned back, pulled the lamb free, and carried it on his shoulders. Strangely, the weight grew lighter with every step until it vanished completely. In its place, he felt a peace bloom inside him. The lamb had been his own soul all along.

That’s what the girl taught me. To turn away would be to betray myself. To say no would be to abandon my own spirit. The cry that wouldn’t let me go it was mine. And healing is my responsibility. Growth, compassion, carrying the forgotten parts of me that’s my work.

So I woke from the dream of August 31, 2025, knowing something I can’t unknow. That date, that vision, was written in the Creator’s own ink. It carried a message: cycles end, seasons shift, and when the cry of the soul won’t release you, it’s because it’s the Creator speaking.

And when the Creator speaks, the only answer is yes. ✨

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