... but it all began with me in hospital. I was sitting in a waiting room, but not with other patients. I sitting near an arrogant nurse. Don't know where the idea that she was arrogant came from. I was seated so close to her... too close for comfort, hers and mine, that when it was time for her to call out my name, I could see that I was the last one on the list, so obviously, it was time to go. Apparently, I was there to see Dr Bashir... in my dream I knew her full name but I don't remember it now. So up I got to go to the doctor's office. Instead, I was at Villa Rosa Kempinski. It was royal-looking, beautiful, like an idiot's heaven, perfect, shiny, angular, rich people milling around with their noses up... although I couldn't quite see them.
Before long however, I was running. Where to, I don't know, I was still at Kempinski, being chased by people, all over the place. The landscape was breathtaking, like a Golf-course with marble plaques every few metres. Now that I think about it, they were like grave stones, but beautiful and shiny. I was pulling some ninja moves, jumping here, running a little, slipping out of the grasp of a security guard just by a whisker, and then I saw a familiar face, and with an unfamiliar head of white hair. A black man, with a white, old man's hair. Samuel L. Jackson was on my tail, he was trying to get me, but I kept skipping and jumping so that neither he, nor his goons could catch me.
Somehow, I made it out. Now I was running up a bridge. A bridge. Not really. It was that overpass that straddles university way. I was running up the ramp shouting. Took me a while to realize what I was shouting. And I only remember shouting it just twice. Once in my head, when I realized that he was standing there, at the centre of the 'bridge' looking towards the Globe roundabout. He was looking at the sunset. Impossible. It was evening, and there's no way the sun sets in the east. Right. So maybe it was a fire he was looking at. He was tall. So tall. Slender. In white. But the light, or fire, or sun that was rising at the wrong time, made his face and gown look the softest, lightest brown. His hair was long, his beard was just right, but I only saw the side of his face.
He wasn't happy. When I realized who I was looking at, I cried out his name; twice, like I said. Once in my head, the second time, I heard myself say, in a very loud an desperate voice:
"JESUS!" and I had my hand stretched out, like I was saying, "take me with you now!". And just then. Just as I was about to reach him, he either snapped his fingers or waved his hand and everything turned black and white... like a 1920s comic book... and he was gone. I remember thinking in my dream that I was going to remember this dream, no matter what happened. I knew I was dreaming. That was Thursday night or Friday morning. Not quite sure. And I woke up with my hand stretched out, so it's likely that I woke up a few neighbours as well.
I was right. I'm probably never going to forget that. It's only my second Jesus dream. When the first one happened, I was a child, maybe 5 or 6, maybe 8... I don't know. But he wasn't happy then either. He was seated among ruins, historical ruins, it looked like, and was surrounded by broken clay pots. Just seated there, alone as I watched from a few feet away.
Intense dreams.
No comments:
Post a Comment