I had a strange dream last night:

Stretched across a worn, dusty, massive plain, 2 armies, both of which number in the millions, stand opposite of each other.  A soot-colored, gargantuan mountain breathing smoke sits at the heels of the evil army.  The sky has absorbed the mood, showing off a thick mass of  rolling, low-hanging clouds, dark grey and sickly green in color.  On the horizon to the west, a faint glow breaks the doom of the ominous clouds, a pale light lingers, hugging the ground for survival.  The smell of sweat, horses, and iron fills the air around me, whereas drifting from the other side comes the smell of rot and mucus.

I unsheathe my sword slowly and can hear my heart pounding in my ears, the sound of my breath magnified by the helmet covering my head.  My horse utters a brief “neigh” and I look to the west, taking notice of the pale light reflecting off of the millions of helmets stretching out as far as the eye can see.  I hear the men clearing their throats, coughing, and shifting their feet.  All jaws are clenched as the thousand yard stare ensues, both sides contributing to the tension that you couldn’t cut with a knife if you so wished it.  Everything cuts to black.

A thousand “clangs” mix with a great roar and, as if opening my eyes, I can see again.  I am on my horse, sweeping across the battle field & shouting orders, cutting down my enemies all the while.  A white flag splattered in blood surges up from the thick of soldiers under attack.  I give my steed a light kick and run full speed into the group, plowing my way to the middle, and grab the flag.  A scream erupts behind me and a grotesque captain from the opposite side charges me.  I wait.  Everything moves in real time around me but the enemy captain and I are stuck in slow motion.  The ground rumbles beneath his clumsy, large feet.  My horse bull snorts and steps forward, eager to take him on, it seems.  I hold the flag over my shoulder and my focus narrows.  Beads of sweat fill my peripheral vision and slide off to the sides of my helmet.  A tingling feeling fills my groin.  The adrenaline.  Fear mixed with excitement.  A feeling of dominance surges through me, insistent that I overpower this thing that is easily twice my size.  A mere 20 feet from me, enraged, out of control, swinging his oversized axe behind his waist, nobody stops him.  15 feet.  With all of my strength, I launch the pole-end of the blood-splattered flag at him and, within the blink of an eye he stops dead in his tracks.  I hear him coughing, gasping for air over the clamor of war.  Blood bubbles up his throat and leaks from his mouth and he stares at me blankly.  My horse half-turns back and forth, raising its head up and down and the captain collapses to the ground with an earth-quaking thud.

A raucous chant splits through the plain, grabbing my attention.  Tens of thousands of unarmed, but well armored soldiers called “bullies” march toward us.  Swords are useless, as are spears.  I take off to the east side of the battle, calling out for the archers in the middle and rear of the formations to take aim and fire on my command.  Word spreads like wildfire through the ranks as the bullies march closer and in unison, the sound of stress from the twine and the wood sound off .  Upon screaming out “UNLEASH!!”, the whittling and spitting noise of tens of thousands of arrows tearing through the air seems to dwarf all other noises.  A second volley of arrows only slow the bullies down.  I quickly realize the futility of another attack and speed further east, booming out for the immediate formation of the cavalry.

Thunder shakes the earth as they line up, coming out from a passageway that leads deep into the eastern mountains.  I cannot count them due to the greatness of their numbers and they are clad in deep, richly colored gold robes with lightweight silver armor plating.  Their helmets are rounded with small, silver wings covering the ears and short plumes of white and black on the top.  The eye pieces are slanted to give an angry and intimidating appearance.  These men are not to be challenged.  I point forward and “CHARGE!” reverberates from the mountain behind us and speeds ahead.  Right as the bullies approach the front lines of my comrades, we hit the first “thick” of them, plowing through them to the end  of their numbers on the western side with relentless determination, confusing, separating, and trampling them.  It serves as enough of a punch that the swordsmen/spearmen charge in to cut them down as they scramble to realign/reform themselves.

With the bullies broken, I ride to the eastern mountain passage to meet with a few hundred elite soldiers.  They arm themselves as they see fit, each specializing in their own art of killing that compliments the others.  I adjust my breastplate as I await their readyness and glance back at the carnage.  Two thirds of my brothers in arms, are being slowly overwhelmed.  None of the special forces before me seem concerned, so confident they are that their actions on the field will turn the tide back in our favor.  A bush rustles behind me and as the figure emerges, I immediately recognize him.  It is Gandhi.  He hobbles to my horse and asks me how I think he would handle this situation.  I pause to consider the meaning of his question and then ask him to back up.  He smiles and does so.  Refusing to bow to or use nonviolent means against the evil we are fighting, I make a speech to the men present (the full contents of which I cannot recall so will not post) and every time I end a sentence with inspiration, the last word appears in the air in front of me in large, bold, white letters, followed by an exclamation point.  The men chant each of those words back to me in unison.  At the end of my speech, I give each of the men a look of confidence; at the last one, several elementary schoolmates of mine appear, smirking & shaking their heads, thinking I am being overly dramatic in my speech.  I ignore them, seeing the successful effect my speech has on the men and understanding that my classmates knew me as a child but not as the leader I was becoming.

The specialists pull out their battle horns and the largest one is handed to me.  We line up at the exit of the passageway and take a few seconds to observe the sight in front of us.  It is so dramatic.  Poetic.  Historic.  Beautiful & tragic.  The forces at the foot of that terrible black mountain have no idea that we are about to unleash absolute hell on them and chase them until every single one of them is lying motionless in their own blood.  I look back at the men one more time, then to the west, whose dying light is rapidly becoming brighter.  My horse rears on it’s hind legs and I blow into my horn, sending a crack up the side of the black mountain to the north; it is echoed by the hundreds of horns behind me.  We roar ahead, chanting together as loud as our voices permit, causing another crack to split the ground a few hundred feet ahead of us, out of which, a spring of water bubbles up.  The blinding light fully breaks in the west, causing a great flash.  I wake up.

I had a strange dream last night:

This feels like heaven, nirvana.  Words do little justice to the impression I am left with.  Such….peace.  Finally.  Finally I feel peace.  I can rest.  I care not about going any further or to something greater, as this does indeed suffice.  I look around……..off in the distance ahead stand silver mountains, dramatically pushing through the white, billowing clouds above & covered in greenery from the foliage and trees growing on them.  A light green carpet of grass stretches out in every direction, the simple, beautiful monotony of it broken by the occasional old, twisty tree.  I hear the sound of water.  I look behind me and a mighty river bubbles up into view, its current rushing along in slow motion, making every glint of sunlight reflecting off the surface seem like diamonds that have been suspended in time.  I have nothing to say, I don’t even shed a tear of happiness; the only feeling I have at this moment is peace.  Serenity.  I feel like I am home again.

I inhale deeply, the smell of flowers filling my nostrils, and I close my eyes.  Through my closed lids I detect a shadow come over me and I look up to the sun, now wrapped up in bands of clouds and it pulsates.  The clouds quickly engulf it and turn it into an opaque, throbbing ball but I am alright with it.  The air has a different sort of feeling to it, but it is still very pleasant.  Suddenly, the sun bursts forth from the clouds, turning them to steam, and I explode in flames.  I feel no physical pain, but am very aware that my entire body is alight, even my eyes, and I hear the roaring sound that usually accompanies a large fire.  I inhale slowly, deeply; a concentrated tingling feeling takes over my limbs & head and the heat is not unbearable-it is consistent but not uncomfortably hot.  I walk toward the mountain and, able to see in a 360 degree view, notice the prints I am leaving in my wake.  Although I walk with my feet, I leave fiery hand prints behind me, black ones that burn the earth.  Nothing smells like it is burning, quite the contrary, I can still smell the flowers everywhere.

Within minutes into my journey toward the mountain, I hear a distant whinnying and look up at the sun, which has now turned black but is somehow still as bright as before and notice a dark, winged creature flying out from it.  It takes only seconds to approach me: a beautiful black horse with wings.  It dramatically swoops past me, bull snorting out of it’s flared nostrils and takes off back to the sun, kicking it’s legs with every downward thrust of it’s feathery, black wings.  It eventually collides with the sun, instantly turning it into the moon, which causes the ground beneath my feet to split, leaving a gap in the ground of about 6 inches or so.  I wake up.

I had a strange dream last night:

I’m dead. I am not quite sure how, but I am somewhat see through and floating and laugh at this cliche. I look out before me and see mountains and shrubbery.

“Yes, you are dead.”

So says a childhood friend of mine who I have not seen in 10 years, causing me to look back at her. We walk along the dusty mountain path discussing the recent realization of my current circumstances. I bombard her with questions concerning what I can and cannot do being dead. I cannot fly, but I can jump extremely high and glide down. Disappointment! I continue to ask her things while we walk past a beautiful tan mountain face and it immediately grabs my attention. I grab her hand and pull her back and we have a seat against some rocks and stare at it in silence. A few people walk by including a man with an Irish Wolfhound which drags him all over the trail, culminating in him getting the choke chain caught around his thigh and being pulled around while laughing. That’s not strange at all.

We pass by a small shack and I head into a cave by myself and head down some winding stairs with no rail guard to hold on to. I thought I was not in need of light to see where I am going, and so I ask her midway down the steps. She told me that even though I am dead, I need light to see and asks me to look for the blue beads. Right then, I notice a blue bead pulsating a few feet in front of me. After approaching it, I touch it with my foot and it flashes. I reach down to pick it up and it expands into the size of a classroom globe, rising up off the dirt to eye level with me and casts a luminous blue/white glow in the cave. I head back up the stairs and pick up little beads of light along the way so I can see where I am going and all of them react to my touch in the same manner as the first one.

I exit the cave but immediately find another one and she comes in with me. The same thing happens. I find beads of light and touch them to illuminate different parts of the cave. I end up in what I believe to be the middle of the cave and cannot find anything to light it up. I hear a low whisper emanating from the sand beneath my feet. I move the sand out of the way with my hands and sitting there is a gold bead of light and it looks like it is filled with electricity. I pick it up and look closely at it and right as it disappears, it fills the middle section with a gold light, exposing the Sphinx that is sitting at my feet. It is motionless but I can hear its heart beating. Next to it is a statue of the Egyptian Queen Nerfertiti, on her belly with a pole extending from her mouth. I push the pole toward her and it emits a rumbling sound. 2 garage doors open up on the far side of the room, giving a breathtaking view of the desert and mountains outside. My friend and I marvel at the ingenuity of the ancients and their accomplishment of motorized garage door openers.

We head back to the entrance of the cave but more beads of light pop up and lead us to a market selling medicinal oils, incense and other medically-related products. I search through the oils, looking for the “Young Living” brand and find some cinnamon oil, myrrh, and frankincense. I ask the vendor to place them aside for me for later when I return, which he willingly does. I continue to browse and I feel a weight in my hand; opening my palm I see a fistful of gold. I wake up.