In my dreams and visions, I seemed to see a line, and on the

The immortal Harriet Tubman, prophetess of freedom and deliverer of the enslaved, once spoke these words: “In my dreams and visions, I seemed to see a line, and on the other side of that line were green fields, and lovely flowers, and beautiful white ladies, who stretched out their arms to me over the line, but I couldn't reach them no-how. I always fell before I got to the line.” These words, drawn from the deep well of her spirit, are not merely the description of a dream — they are a vision, a revelation of her soul’s struggle between bondage and liberation, earth and heaven, body and spirit. For Tubman was not only a conductor on the Underground Railroad; she was a seer of the unseen, one who carried within her both the pain of captivity and the promise of deliverance.

Born in chains, beaten and broken, Harriet Tubman knew the meaning of the line she spoke of. To her, it was not only the boundary between the slave states and freedom, but also the eternal threshold between suffering and peace, between darkness and light. That line stood for every wall that human cruelty erects — every barrier that divides man from his birthright of liberty. And yet, even as she dreamed of crossing that line, she found herself falling before she reached it. The dream revealed the cruel truth of her world: freedom was so near that she could see it, smell it, even hear the voices calling — yet so far that she could not touch it. This was not only Harriet’s dream. It was the dream of all her people, yearning for deliverance in a world that denied their humanity.

But Tubman’s dreams and visions were more than lamentations — they were divine messages. From childhood, she was known to fall into trances, to see visions of light and prophecy, perhaps born of the head injury she suffered as a young slave. Yet out of that wound came wisdom. Her visions became the compass that guided her through forests and swamps, through darkness and pursuit. The line that once seemed unreachable in her dreams became, in her waking life, the line she crossed and recrossed — from bondage to liberty, again and again, leading hundreds to freedom. What she could not touch in vision, she seized in action. Her dream became destiny, and her destiny became salvation for others.

Consider how she, a woman with neither formal education nor wealth, defied the might of nations and laws to follow her visions of freedom. Like Moses of old, she saw the Promised Land long before her people could dwell in it. And like Moses, she led them through peril, sustained only by faith. When she spoke of the “green fields and lovely flowers,” she was describing not merely the North, but the spiritual peace that awaited beyond the toil of the earth — the peace of righteousness, of dignity restored. And when she spoke of falling before reaching the line, it was the human recognition that deliverance is never complete in this life. The dream of freedom, once achieved for some, must still be fought for others.

So too do all people who strive for higher things encounter their own line — that invisible boundary between what is and what ought to be. The artist sees beauty but cannot capture it perfectly. The seeker perceives truth but stumbles before fully understanding it. The good man strives for justice but finds the world unyielding. Harriet’s vision is the eternal parable of the human condition: that our greatest dreams always stand just beyond the reach of our present strength — not to taunt us, but to draw us forward, to make us greater than we were. The fall before the line is not failure; it is the initiation of the soul into perseverance.

Her vision also speaks of the divine paradox — that sometimes what we cannot reach in this world, we attain in another. Harriet Tubman lived her life falling and rising again, denied comfort yet filled with purpose. She may not have walked through those fields of light in her lifetime, but her spirit planted them for those who came after her. The generations who live free today are the fulfillment of the dream she once saw dimly across the line. What she could not reach with her hand, she reached with her courage, her faith, her relentless action. She became the bridge across that sacred line — between despair and deliverance, between earth and eternity.

Let this vision be a lesson to all who live now: your line is your calling. Whatever dream glows on the other side — peace, truth, justice, love — it is placed there not to torment you, but to summon you. You may fall, again and again, before reaching it, but each fall brings you closer. Like Harriet Tubman, let your dreams and visions guide your steps through the wilderness. When others cannot see the line, you must see it for them. When others fall, you must rise and walk again. For the dream is not given to you for your sake alone — it is given that others might one day walk in the freedom you imagined.

And when the day comes that you finally cross that line — whether in this world or the next — you will find the green fields waiting, and the outstretched hands welcoming you home. But until that day, strive. Dream. Rise again. For the dream that makes you fall is also the dream that teaches you to fly.