I attempted to post last week concerning a dream and its afterwards. Somehow I deleted the post and was unable to recover it. I was blown away somewhat, but not angry about it. I didn't have time to get mad at myself or, perhaps the emotional bandwidth.
At this juncture I can see that it is well that some time has passed, as I included a lot of detail that now seems not very important for the overall impact. The most peculiar aspect of the dream occurred afterwards, over a few hours, extending into the day. I'll explain.
In this dream, I fell violently ill and died, quite suddenly. My wife and son were there, and I slipped away as into a crevice, reaching out to them, and they toward me, as I disappeared from sight. I felt sorrow that I was unable to offer some words before dying, of solace, perhaps, or instructions, especially to my son.
There was a moment of silence and a clouded darkness, then I came to on a grassy lawn or expanse. I looked up and was handed a white cup, gilded with gold.
Right there, any Catholic will agree: this was a good dream. ;-)
I stood and saw the ground spreading out a fair distance. People walked along a sort of promenade. They were dressed - some in suits of a sort, some in robes. There were columns and arches, of white, here and there. And there several feet away was a long wooden table with people gathered, as at a banquet (or, a supper. A supper!). I rushed to the white-bearded person at the head of the table, threw my arms around him, and said "Father! Father, I love you!" The figure replied, "I love you too, Patrick."
He asked me, Do you understand where you are? I said, Yes, this is heaven.
I asked this figure, who I understood of course to be God, how my parents were, whether they had drawn closer to him. He said that they had. I was overjoyed in my dream, threw my arms around him again and said (get this), "Then it was worth it!" (Meaning, my death) I asked how my brother was, and he said, Not so good, he's depressed.
{Note that this rather freaked me out, so I called my brother [who's having a hard time], told him I loved him, and bought him a computer so that we can stay in touch, so, like. In retrospect of course it fascinated me that I did not ask about my wife and son. more on that later}
Other parts of the dream are lost to me, in large part. I believe I asked if I could pray for my brother, and God said, laughingly, Yes, of course. The exchanges were very much of the prototypical eager acolyte and the wise, indulgent master, no doubt. There was a bit more back-and-forth before I directed my attention elsewhere. Soon thereafter, I woke up.
Now, this was an amazing dream, and I was understandably impressed. Though I have to say I was not quite blown away. The dream did not have as intense a quality as others I have had. It did not seem directly critical. For one thing, the God figure reminded me of the actor Lorne Greene, of Bonanza fame. Though, now that I write this out, I feel like I am being unfair to the dream, to myself, and to the spirit that produced the dream. That in itself is pretty interesting.
I stayed awake and wondered about it. I thought about my wife and son. I thought about the people I would want to meet in Heaven. And, as I wondered these things, I found my mind returning to that scene as it carried out these desires.
I found myself walking to encounter, in particular, Simon Peter, the Blessed Virgin, Mary, and the Lord, Jesus Christ. These encounters occurred over a few hours. They lasted as I readied myself for work, walked to the bus, and rode downtown. It would occur to me to wonder something more, whereupon my mind would occupy the same space as it had in the dream, and the scene would carry out. So, the waking experience carried a presence similar to the immediacy of dream, which is remarkable and unique, in my experience, at least.
I recall only two excerpts though, both of which were critically important to me. Of my family, I was told, They are okay, which I took to mean that my wife and son, like my parents, had drawn closer to God. I believe I asked this of Simon Peter.
Then, this. Which I relish. I mean, it was just delightful. I asked the Lord, Jesus Christ, What happens to people who do not come here? (Meaning, heaven) He said something to this effect, laughingly (like his Dad, you might say), "I have no idea." I took this to mean that they simply disappear. At least, for the moment.
What a great dream. At some point during the day this window closed to me. It is closed to me now. I have no regret. In retrospect, I was and am not amazed by the dream. I tell myself, No kidding. I practice a belief that God, the Lord, and all the Saints and angels (oh, there were angels, by the way. Strange, distorted rather fierce-looking beings, but benevolent and in a certain respect almost like part of the landscape, like signposts. Or like trees in white twisted by the wind. It's hard to capture the sense) where all this is present, now, here, at this moment. Exactly now where I sit. Where you sit. Here.
But, you know, it's been a hard week since this dream. Among my thoughts was the concern that if I die and am concerned for my parents, who are both 83 years old now - well, if this was in part a premonition, I will die quite soon, in maybe five years or so. My reaction to that is: fine. If that is God's will I am all for it. I believe this is the correct response. Still, seems a bit sad.
And, as I said, I contacted my brother and got some things going there. It should bear fruit, or maybe already has.
I have spent the past week in an state of accelerated understanding of my failures and non-presence. To live the truth that God is all is a pretty brutal refutation of everything else we hold dear. Much in the dream was a surprise but upon reflection bore out. Focusing on my parents only? Check the commandments. Got it. Thank you.
Life is hard, I know this. I am allowed dreams, insights. I write about them. I pray as I can and fail, constantly. We lift arms tangled with other arms. Our knowledge hardly qualifies as insight, however we strive. We fall, again and again. This is the Way. This is simply a form of the Way. There are many forms, dreams, and voices.
I only wish I could recall more about Mary or Simon Peter. I remember only impressions. Mary, that she was beautiful, sunlight from a rose. And Simon Peter was amused and kind.
What a dream. What a religion.
Can you believe that cup?
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