Catching Up on Dreams

 

June 5, 2011 - Catching up on Dreams

 

 

This morning I had a very heartbreaking dream and I thought I would take the opportunity to catch up on the ones that I think should make it to the blog.  I had several of them while I was away and they were topics of conversation at the breakfast table.

 

Tsumami

Mj 2002 3

 

I had this dream on Sunday evening/Monday morning of the 31^st of May.  I’ve had this dream before even though the setting would change the big wave was always there.

 

In this dream, I was in the lower level of someone’s huge house.  Part of it was partially above ground as the house was built into the side of a cliff.  One section of the exposed end of this basement area was all glass from floor to ceiling.  It was designed in such a way that this part of the lower level of the house was practically sitting right on top of the ocean.  Every piece of furniture and the setting of this room was focused on this one wall.

 

“Let me show you something,” a woman said to me.

 

I did not know the people whose house I was in but she looked like Nancy Malnik.  I was a first time guest in this house and not comfortable there.

 

I walked over to the window and looked down.  The height of the room I was in from the water, the movement and inundating of the water gave me a sudden, short fit of vertigo.

 

Just then I saw the water begin to pull away as if a giant scoop was pushing it away.  I followed with my eyes the drawing out of the water and then I realized what was happening.

 

Just as the jolt of fear hit me I saw the swell in the distance being fed by the withdrawing of the water.  I said under my breath “another one?” and I turned to run toward the other end of the basement, to find the exit to the upper level, out of the house.

 

The “Nancy” woman called to me, “Don’t worry.  It’s a reinforced wall . . .”  Just as I heard her say this, I heard no more.  I didn’t even hear the wall give way when I felt the force of the cold ocean hit my back, but it woke me up.

 

 

 

They are Looking for Him

 

Tuesday, June 1, I had this dream.  I was supposed to meet Michael (yes, that one).  But I was on my own, I had to figure out how to get there and how to find him.  No one connected to him could help me because of the risk.  My way was paid, but I had to make all the arrangements and find where to go to learn that tickets and vouchers were waiting for me when I succeeded.

 

I figured out what country he was in and flew to that country (I know what country it was but I don’t want to tell you).  From there I had to ask questions and use the process of elimination to pinpoint approximately where he would be.

 

I then rented a bicycle and rode on country roads through hills and woods.  The countryside was beautiful.

 

I finally had to move off the road because people I encountered told me that country’s army was coming and they were looking for Michael and they had learned through their spies that someone (me) was making their way to see him.

 

I was told to take the “below road”, which was a secret road that the army did not know about.  So I ditched the bike and climbed down the hill off the road into the woods.

 

As I walked I ran into sentries who were watchers of people who traveled the “below road”.  People called them the “anti-army”.

 

The “below-road” was a foot path that ran parallel to the road and it was so inconspicuous and hidden that it took some convincing it even existed, as the path/road would disappear.  You had to know what signs to look for in the trees and bushes to follow it.

 

As I came upon a portion of the path that could be seen, someone grabbed me around the waist from behind and pulled me into a small alcove created by an outcropping of bushes and trees into the side of the bank the road was on.  He put his hand over my mouth.

 

“Shhh”, he said, “The (country name) army is right above us.  Just stay here until I say it is safe.”

 

The hand left my mouth and I turned to look at him, but his face was in shadows.  He was a little taller than me, maybe an inch and trim.  He was dressed in black and dark green and I could not see his face.

 

“How much longer before I get to see Michael?” I asked him

 

He replied, “You still have to wait a little while longer.  There is still a wee bit to go.” 

 

I then woke up.

 

I know the country and its army and the name was used in the dream, but I can’t say what country this was because I just don’t know.  Even if it is just a dream I don’t want to help the other side.

 

 

 

The Two Coreys

 

This one I had this morning before I woke up.  I cried.

 

I was in a room listening to Corey Feldman verbally tear down Corey Haim, who was just standing there looking into Feldman’s eyes.  Feldman was telling Haim that he was a loser, that he was a waste of human flesh and that the only reason Haim was famous was because of him.

 

I yelled at him to stop but he didn’t hear me.  Haim turned and calmly walked from the room.

 

Next we were in another room.  Myself, Feldman and Feldman’s mother.  Feldman’s mother was telling Corey that he should apologize to Haim, that they used to be best friends.

 

“No!” Said Feldman, “It’s too late.  He let the cat out of the bag.  He wrote his story when he did that!”

 

I grabbed Feldman’s shoulders and made him look into my eyes.  His were cold and hard.  He was an inch or two shorter than me in the dream, but he was bulkier.  He at first tried to pull away, then he would look away.  But when I started speaking his eyes turned to me even though his head was still turned to the side.

 

I said to him, “You two were children!  You have a memory of caring about him Corey!  It’s in there!  Think of just one thing!  Just one time that you did something genuinely nice for him (Haim)!  What was it?  Tell me about just one time . . .”

 

I felt the resistance in his shoulders give way before I saw it in his eyes, but it did follow.  Then Feldman’s mother chimed in – “How about the time you two were swimming in the pool and one of the other kids pounced on him, trying to pull him under water!  You ripped that kid off of Corey and you were in his face about hurting your friend.  You defended him to other people who claimed he was gay.  When they challenged you on loyalty to them, do you remember what you said?”

 

I was looking at Feldman who’s eyes were now locked with mine.  I saw a softness break through.  There was also a hint of fear there.  I said to him, “Corey you knew his pain.  Try to remember that you loved him.”  I watched movement in Feldman’s eyes, he was fighting.  I held his eyes and would not let him look away.  I didn’t want it to take him too . . . “The love is there Corey, remember what it felt like . . .”  I saw his face begin to crumble with emotion just as I woke up.

 

This dream is one of those ones that I WISH had happened.  Corey Haim is now dead from a drug overdose, after “letting the cat out of the bag” on an episode of “The Two Coreys” reality show. 

 

*************** End *****************

 

We had a lot of mishaps while away on this trip that was just supposed to be the graduation of one of our boys, and the graduation of my other son’s girlfriend.  I didn’t not count on a $500 car repair, a broken toe or the air conditioning motor to die back at home while we were gone.

 

But the most disheartening yet blessed thing that did happen was a heart to heart talk with a couple of our dear friends while we were up there. What started out as a hurtful conversation with these friends of ours turned into a revelation for me as to just how some people view God and the way many churches teach us to view him.

 

I did not know how to handle the conversation without letting emotion cause me to approach it in a defensive manner.  One of the friends absolutely did not like Michael, and somehow they came to the conclusion that I was someone to be ‘concerned’ about because of the time I spent researching for the blog.  I was presented with an example of several people they either knew or read about that were financially rewarded after going to church and tithing.

 

I’m parsing the conversation a bit to save some space.  It wasn’t that cut and dry, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how closely people associate big checkbooks with “godliness”.

 

I love these people, they are like my adopted mom and dad, and I didn’t want to say anything out of anger or hurt so I waited and let the conversation get changed.  But I also remembered in the Bible that we are supposed to advocate for those who have or are being persecuted, victimized or lied about, ESPECIALLY those who served God.

 

After some prayer and thought, I wrote the email to them below.  After reading it I thought about sharing it here because I don’t think I will ever again be able to express how unfair and untrue the misconceptions about people, God’s will for them, and the way churches teach certain issues and acceptance of the mission of others.

 

I have changed the names, but I also want this to be an open letter about what Michael was about, and what learning about him has taught me about the way I look at things. Because five years ago, this letter could have been written to myself.

 

**************** Start ****************

 

 

 

Dear Friends,

I have obviously failed to explain effectively why the blog is so important.  I guess I don't know how to unless I actually put it in writing, so this is my attempt to do just that.

The link below is only one of many entries, but I would like you to take the time to read through it while putting any biases aside.  It took me two years to get to the point of being able to do that myself but I am glad God put me through it.  Forget what you read/heard/hear in the news because it's as much fantasy as a Stephen King Novel.

John - You don't like Michael Jackson and never liked him, so you said.  I'm not asking you to LIKE him.  But if you are going to base your opinion on what the media and the press have fed you ABOUT him, I would at least like you to take a look at WHO is behind that industry, and the part they are playing in the organization of One World Government.  Because this is exactly what Michael was trying to warn us about, the spiritual battle. 

Once you know that, you will understand why Michael was so persecuted and PERSECUTED he was.  When you realize what Michael was trying to tell people in his songs and speeches, you will ALSO understand just why the evil went after him they way it did.  He was surrounded by it.

Michael was not a perfect human being and he grew up in an entertainment industry rife with evil and evil intentions toward our children.  He grew up in this industry much of the time under the control of people OTHER than his parents.  It's a horrible story.  However, Michael was a FAITHFUL person and a Bible reader/studier. He loved God and He loved Jesus.  He loved people.  God would not let him go and THIS MAN and what he was PUT THROUGH taught me what Jesus has wanted me to know for my whole life and that is what UNCONDITIONAL LOVE is and the power of it.  Jesus was God's example of it. We are supposed to follow it and that includes loving people we don't understand.

It is because of that unconditional love that I want both of you to know who this man was/is (not sure he's dead) because he FOUGHT FOR US and he did it as they were smearing his name and his integrity.  He also befriended children because he, as a child performer, witnessed a lot of evil done to a lot of children in the industry.  The things he saw I am now uncovering.  This is what they used against him to try to bring him back under control and shut him up.

I am also going to send you a video of an interview with Latoya, his sister, where she talks about what they did to her and how the Bible saved her.  If they did this to Latoya, then imagine what they did to Michael, who was much more influential.  This interview was taped on Dutch T.V. because our country would never allow such an interview.  Michael's brother Jermaine also gave an interview in another country talking about a conspiracy against Michael that our own government was involved in, but he didn't name names.  Our "freedom of press" has been long gone.

This blog entry has a lot of information in it and links to other blogs where my research is explained further:

http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/03/fight-for-michael-jacksons-soul-part-1.html  

This is the research I did on Latoya and the video of her interview is there. When she talks about someone smuggling a Bible to her, you will cry (well Judy will, LOL!  We know John doesn't cry, hehehehe).

http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/03/michael-jacksons-sister-latoya-family.html  

Her video about the Bible is there, but you can click here too http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=om8CjBgthJo&feature=player_embedded  

In the full length version of this interview, Latoya talks about the research her mother did into the mind control.  She was told by Jack Gordon's doctor that he was using the same drugs on Latoya that the military uses on their soldiers, putting it into their food before they are sent on missions.  Why would civilian doctors know about this?

This is what OUR NEWS will not air or talk about. There is a complete BLACKOUT in regard to Michael and his faith and him talking about his mission.  You have to learn about it online, via blogs like mine and others, and watching his interviews on Youtube.

Both Michael and Latoya left Jehovah's Witness church as did Jermaine, but they never say why.  In Michael's Bible Study notes of which I have copies of (I will post the link to that below too), Michael wrote "Rely only on God's Word, not man's".  Many of Michael's songs talk about the changing of history and the complete fiction our news has turned into.  Michael's Bible Study notes are here:  Part 1 - http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/02/michael-jacksons-bible-study-notes-part.html   

Part 2 - http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/02/michael-jackson-rely-on-gods-word-not.html  

After seeing this, I don't know how you can still hate him, but the treatment of him reminds me a lot of what our apostles went through in trying to get Jesus's message out.  That is all Michael was trying to do.  To remind us to love each other.  Apparently that is a crime in the U.S.

I'm sorry for the length of this, but it is important.  We are supposed to advocate for those who were persecuted for getting the message out.  The evil behind the music industry had plans for Michael.  They were extremely angry they lost control of him.  God was more powerful.  It is one heck of a story. 

Michael was innocent and very child-like.  They thought they could use that.  Michael resisted and prayed ALOT.  His "witnessing" didn't make the news.  Wonder why?  Please take into consideration that before June 25th of 2009, I was not even a fan of Michael.  I was moved to do this and that story is also throughout the very beginning of this blog.  This is no accident nor is it a flight of fancy.  If I get offended it is because that is how you presented your concerns to me.  I'm glad I waited until now to try and explain it because I was hurt and it probably would not have come out right at the time we were discussing it.

I understand why you are concerned about me, I do get that.  But it is really hard to explain in this day and age how important this is.  Yes, we need more income.  But what would have happened to us if Paul had told God, "I can't spend the time on this, I have to get a job."  What if John the Baptist had told God that. What if Jesus had told God that?  Where would we be?  How did Moses take Israel into the desert and survive for 40 years?  There was no General Motors or IBM plant out there that I can recall.  God provided for them and not one of them punched a time clock.

I will pray hard for what God wants me to do to take some of the burden from my husband.  There isn't much down here and this is where God put us.  That is the best I can do.  There are things we don't need that we could get rid of, but that is not my decision to make.  I will definitely tell you what happens.

Love  you two VERY MUCH,

Bonnie


P.S.  Money is not evidence of favor with God.  It really bothers me when this is used as an example of a blessing because it is used so often, even by churches.  Our riches are not here.  When someone approaches me with a story about how "godly" some one is because of  the checks he writes to the church, my ears close up.  Stories about the prosperity of a person who previously couldn't afford to "tithe" but did it anyway are misleading, because God does not bless with money.  He blesses with answered prayers.  SOMETIMES money to provide for necessities is one of those answers.  It is no guarantee of an easy life from that point forward.  Tithing yourself into prosperity is akin to taxing someone into prosperity.  You can't call it tithing with "return" as a motivation.  John’s example of "Trust" is a much better explanation and I wish I would hear that more often in church.

 

*************** End *****************

 

Michael has stated more than once what money and the love of it has done to the people that were around him.  During the 2003, “60 Minutes” interview, Michael said the “love of money” is the route of all evil.  He repeated the Bible’s message on the deception and seduction of the sin of coveting, greed and gluttony.

 

Yet this is what a lot of churches have leaned toward teaching as proof of your love or devotion to God.  This is wrong.  The relationship with God is personal, NOT material.  He wants our love, not our money.  You give what God moves you to give.  Godliness has nothing to do with material wealth.  It frustrates me to hear these types of examples, motivating people to give money for the WRONG reasons.

 

If you are giving to God with the expectation of getting more back in return, what are you really sacrificing for God?  You give because you LOVE him or you LOVE the person who lost something.  You give because you LOVE the person who is in pain. Because you CARE, not because you expect to be paid back, plus. 

 

This is along the same lines as what Jesus said about loving our enemies.  If we love those who love us, but not our enemies, don’t even our enemies do the same?  Your blessing is in loving someone who does not know love, even if they do not return it because they will remember it.  You are planting a seed and sometimes that is all God needs us to do.

 

I wanted to share this with you tonight.  Tomorrow I want to get back on track with this blog.

 

God Bless you

 

 

 

Only One Door

 

February 4, 2011 – Only One Door – Another Allegory

This Place Hotel?

 

Dreams about Gang stalkers http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/02/only-one-door-another-allegory.html

 

 

Isaiah 19:2: “ I will set Egyptians against Egyptians; Everyone will fight against his brother, And everyone against his neighbor, City against city, kingdom against kingdom.”

 

 

 

 

The dream takes place in the back yard of one of my first supervisors – a lady who was my department manager in Boscov’s back in the early 1980’s.  I was still living at home and attending college but working at the store during the Christmas season.   We ended up remaining friends for the next 20 years, but in this dream she was not my friend.

 

My mother dragged me to this woman’s house for a visit.  I did not want to go, but I did not complain.  The woman was my mother’s age.  She invited us back to sit on her patio.  While she and my mother talked, I tried to ignore the conversation, preferring instead to glance around her back yard, which was filled with esthetically positioned flower beds.

 

As I panned  the back yard with my head, I saw in back of me, sitting on the stone accent wall, an ornate, Victorian doll house.  It was beautiful with the gingerbread wrap-around front porch, shutters, medallion accents around both windows and door.  I moved over toward it, drawn by the sheer detail in the beauty, forgetting where I was.

 

The dollhouse itself was probably about three feet high from base to eaves.  It was the kind of house I always wanted to live in . . . old fashioned with a warmth to it.  Even the color, a dusty dark blue with white trim, spelled elegance with comfort.  I could imagine a warm fire going inside on a cold and snowy Christmas eve night.  Suddenly, I felt eyes on me.

 

I turned to find both my mother and the woman looking at me.  I felt my face flushing.  I was I daydreaming out loud?

 

“My husband made that for my daughter”, the woman said.  “It ‘s BEAUTIFUL!” I replied, forgetting how wary I was of her.

 

She then asked me, “Would you like to go inside?”

 

My eyes widened at the possibility.  I DID want to, but how?

 

Suddenly, I was pulled, as if by a vacuum, into the house and I was looking at the outside from one of the windows.

 

I looked around the house, but something wasn’t right.  I felt something behind me.  Then I heard them.  They were giggling and snickering but it was a threatening sound . . . without mirth.

 

Then I heard them taunt me, calling my name.  I began to run because there were no doors in that room I was in.

 

They – were women . . . a bunch of them.  A pack.  They were behind me, keeping pace as I was trying to get away.  They followed me as I ran through rooms opening doors that led to hallways full of closed doors.  I would shut door behind me to slow them down, but they were constantly behind me.

 

I ran and ran, through doors, closing them behind me, opening ones in front of me.  I ran down hallways, opened doors that led to rooms, that had doors that led to other hallways with more doors to more rooms to more doors to more hallways.  Nothing, not one door led to the way out.

 

As I ran, I somehow knew that they were trying to get me to turn toward them.  They wanted me to look at them.  I also knew that if I did look back, they would get me, so I continued on.

 

They tried everything, cat calls, taunts, even throwing objects that occasionally hit me, but I did not turn to look at them.

 

I was getting quite tired and I knew that these women were evil.  I had to get away from them, my life depended on it.

 

As I exited another room and into another hallway filled with closed doors, I noticed that one door toward the end of the hall, on the left was open.  I slowed as I approached it, the women still behind me, the same gang, stalking and trying to get me to turn and face them.

 

I slowed to a walk upon approach to the room of the open door.  There inside the room, in the center was one man, in white robes and sandals on his feet.  His hands were clasped in front of him, one over the other.  He was looking directly at me.

 

I knew who he was.  Every bit of fear drained from my body.  I felt the strain leave my face but as I tried to take a step toward that room, a sudden heaviness overtook me.  I felt as if metal were moving through my veins instead of blood.  The weight of even my own leg was incredible!   The effort it took to make just one step completely drained me of energy.

 

The gang of women behind me had stopped as well.  They were still taunting and throwing things at me to get me to turn around, but they would not come any closer.

 

I could feel objects hitting me in the back, but I kept my eyes on him.  I was still trying to walk, but it was so hard!  One foot lifted and placed in front of the other, rest, ragged breathing as if I had just run a flight of stairs, it was like trying to walk through thick mud.

 

I could hear the laughing behind me, “why don’t you turn around! You’ll never get to that room, join us . . .” all the while, throwing objects at me, hitting me.

 

I was walking, slowly, agonizingly trying to will my feet to move.  I know I needed to get to him.  He continued to watch me, his eyes giving me strength. They were so calm.  They were filled with this incredible love and I knew not to take my own eyes off of him if I was going to make it.

 

Something the gang of women threw hit me in the back.  It was heavy enough to knock me to the floor.  I continued to crawl as I knew I would not have the strength to get back up.

 

I pulled myself with my arms and pushed with my legs, crawling like a child.  Every movement was so heavy and sapped me of energy.  Finally I crossed the threshold, looking up into his face, like a baby trying to crawl to its parent for the first time.

 

I was so very exhausted.  I just wanted to lay my head on the floor and sleep, but I kept crawling, keeping my face on his, even straining my neck back to look up at him.

 

Finally I was close enough and I reached my hand out to touch his sandaled foot.

 

I touched him.

 

As soon as my hand made contact with his foot, all the heaviness left me immediately.  I was lifted and placed in his arms, with my head against his shoulder, as baby would be placed.  My hand rested on his chest and my head in the crook of his shoulder.  I was crying but full of emotion that was anything but sadness.

 

I smiled at him.  I know my cheeks were wet and I was looking at him through tears.  Everything I felt was coming back at me through his eyes.  I said without speaking, “I love you, do you know that?”  The joy of giving him back what he gave me was incredible.  “I do know” he told me, again without speaking”.  Those eyes were remarkable.  I wanted to fall into them they held so much love and peace.  Complete serenity.

I felt as if I was being gently set back on the floor.  I felt my feet touching it and I was standing now, as the fully grown girl that I was before I crossed that threshold.

 

He asked me, again without speaking, why I was afraid.  I told him that I had been trying to get out and away from those stalking me and chasing me, I said to him, “Will you please help me get out? I can’t find my way out.”

 

He replied (none of this with speaking), “All you need is your faith, where is your faith?”

 

As he said this he began to drift back away from me.  I shook my head, “No . . . don’t leave me here, I have to get out, can you show me the way out?”

 

He continued to drift back while I shook my head no in denial, he kept repeating, “keep your eyes on me and have faith” . . .

 

I followed him,  reaching out to touch him, “please don’t leave, I need to get out” and his smile always interrupting with , “keep your eyes on me and have faith, just remember to have faith . . .” as he drifted back away from me.

 

I followed him with my hand toward him to touch him until I connected with something.  It was flat and solid and cool.  It was the wall, but I could still see him beyond the wall.

 

In my head was his words repeated over and over, “keep your eyes on me, don’t turn away and have faith.”  I began shaking my head in agreement, “okay”, I said, “okay, okay . . .” shaking my head as a child would in understanding.

 

Both my hands were against the wall now, peering through it and seeing him slowly fade into the pattern of the paneling, repeating the same, “keep your eyes on me and have faith . . .” and my shaking my head “okay” until finally he was undetectable in the paneling. 

 

I continued to nod my head “yes”, repeating, “okay” as if he were still there.  The gang of women were no longer a concern.

 

Suddenly the wall disintegrated into this grey, pearly mist and in an instant I was sitting at a counter in a Dunkin’ Donuts.

 

I awoke and opened my eyes over a cup of half-drunk coffee; the aroma of it snaking its way up through my olfactory nerves and lodging in my sinuses. 

 

I slowly lifted my head and looked around.  None of the other patrons had noticed I had fallen asleep.  But how did I even get here?  I don’t remember driving to a Dunkin Donuts!  This was my step father’s favorite haunt, but he was nowhere in sight.

 

I looked down and saw a half-eaten Danish and a bill with a dollar and change laying on top of it.  I shook my head in disbelief.  Whatever happened, nobody noticed and somebody, maybe me, paid the bill.

 

I felt incredibly groggy, as if I hadn’t slept in days.  I turned on the stool and made my way to the other side of the shop to leave, walking past all the seated patrons who were engaged with conversation or looking into their cups of coffee.

 

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to look behind me.  It was a kid (college aged . . . my age) with short, neatly trimmed dark blonde hair.  He was clean cut, wearing a flannel shirt.  “Can you help me?” he asked.

 

“Uh, sure.”  I said to him.

 

He continued, “I’m trying to get home from college.  I had friends that were supposed to meet me here and pick me up, but I’ve been waiting over an hour and I don’t think they are coming.  Would you possibly be able to drive me home?”

 

I said to him, still feeling half asleep, “Sure, where do you live?”

 

“Milford.” He replied.

 

I felt a sense of dread, knowing my beast of a car and it’s thirst for gas.  “I’m sorry, I can’t.  I don’t have enough gas in my car to get to Milford.”

 

He replied, “That’s okay.  I can give you five dollars for gas.  My mother will give you another five once we get there.”

 

I thought for a second.  Milford was only about thirty to forty minutes away.  “Alright, I’ll do it.”  I turned and continued toward the front of the shop, expecting he would just follow.

 

Next thing I know I feel another tap on my shoulder and the grey, pearly mist folded around me again.

This time when I turned to acknowledge him, I was looking up into the face of my sister, who was bent over my bed, “Get up lazy-bones, I made you a cup of tea…”

 

With that she left my room.  I was on my belly and had to twist around to see her.

 

I swung my feet over the side of  the bed and sat there for a second.  The first thought in my head was, “ugh…”

 

Wherever I was before she woke me, I was in a deep sleep.  My sister, who is 13 months younger than me, had become pregnant and was handed an ultimatum by my mother the year before at the age of seventeen . . . marry or abort.  So she had married and moved out of the house.  She apparently was there to visit.

 

I managed the motivation to get off of the bed.  I had laid down for a short nap after work. At the age of nineteen and living back at home after a year of “on your own”, I still had that luxury.

 

I made my way out of the bedroom and through the house to the kitchen.  Around the table was my then thirteen year old brother, my mother, my visiting eighteen year old sister and her seven month old son.

 

I found my “assigned seat” marked by the cup of tea she had told me she made me.  I sat down, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.  Pieces of the dream were coming back to me as I worked my way backward through the memory of it.  I took a sip of the tea which was perfect in taste and temperature. Slowly life began to spread back through my veins until it reached my brain cells.

My sister and her husband had one vehicle between the two of them.  I know by his schedule at the Delaware Hospital for the Chronically Ill that he would have been at work.  So I asked her, “Sandy, how did you get here?”  She replied, “Bob picked me up on the way home from his mother’s house and dropped me off before he went to work.”

 

“Oh”, I replied and took another sleepy sip of tea.  Bob was our stepfather and he drove truck for Perdue.  He would be gone all night.  Oh yes, I had to ask, “Sandy . . . how are you getting home?”

 

She leaned over the table at me with this impish grin on her face, “You’re driving me.”

 

Her imposition sent a bit more life back into my blood tinged with irritation, “Sandy, I don’t have enough gas to get you back to Townsend, you . . .” and she broke into my preparation to let her have it by telling me, “Bonnie!  I have five dollars for gas and Wayne will give you another five when I get home . . .”

 

My eyes flew open and I jumped up out of my chair, “Mom! Mom!  I just had a dream about that!”  I was fully awake after that, and told them all my dream, including the little “attachment” dream God gave me, that came true as soon as I woke up . . . His way of telling me, “pay attention to this, I am not playing around . . .”

 

*

 

That dream I had in the summer of 1984.  There were elements in the dream of course that are universal, such as “keep your eyes on me” and “have faith” and “remember your faith” . . . but the pack of women following me and taunting me, trying to terrorize me and thwart my destination made no sense. They represented distraction to me back then, but take on a whole new significance learning what I’ve learned about what Michael had to deal with.

 

The Victorian house?  My longing for a home.  I never really had one.  Grew up without the security of a home, a longing for Victorian times?  Old fashioned values?  These were things that disintegrated when I was six years old.  Security and family became things of the past.

 

The unending doors and hallways, the many twists in the path, lies, illusions.

 

All doors closed except one . . . the one that Christ is standing in the room. The ONLY destination is the one where the door is open. 

 

The counsel from Christ to “keep my eyes” on him and “have faith” and “remember your faith” that faith gets you through and out of every situation.  Just trust him and keep your eyes on him.

 

Being stalked by gangs of women and Jesus giving me the “attachment” dream that came true right after I woke up, right down to the dollar and the gas!  I was supposed to pay attention to this dream.

 

Gangs of women . . . I can’t get over that one.

 

Tomorrow, I will share with you the “numbers” and the research Biblically I had done four years ago, inspired by a simple, little known movie.

 

God Bless you