I was working as an attorney, representing a man who I had been informed owned a house on the corner of a city street. I had also been informed that uranium worth seventy million dollars was buried underneath the man's house. I needed to immediately find the man - before the men who had discovered the presence of the uranium found him - and I needed to inform the man of the value of his property. If the other men found the man first, they might try to buy the property without first telling the man the true value of the property.
For a moment I thought I might not tell the man how much the property was really worth. I could buy the property myself for some paltry price. Or I might simply enter into an agreement with the man to help him sell the house so I could receive a commission. Even five percent of seventy million would be beaucoup money. I thought, however, that doing anything like that would be a breach of my ethical duties as a lawyer to my client.
Afterwards I found myself in a car being driven by Keith Walker (a Dallas attorney). It was unclear whether Keith was the man I was representing or whether Keith was simply trying to help me find the man. I began discussing the matter with Keith, not telling him everything at first, but letting him know that we needed to talk about the sale of the house. When Keith and I rode by the house, I saw the men standing outside the house and I recognized them as the men who had discovered the uranium. They were looking for the owner of the house. To compound the problem, on the house were the two last names of two people, which indicated the house might be owned by two men rather that one.
Desperate to impress upon Keith the urgency of persuading the owner to sell the house, I finally blurted out that the house had seventy million dollars worth of uranium under it. We rapidly talked about forming a partnership between myself, Keith and the owner or owners, although it was quite unclear who would be in the partnership.
As we continued riding along, Keith seemed more like my old friend Steve Buckner (whom I first met in 1967 when we entered the ninth grade together). He looked as if he might be 30 years old. As we crested the top of a rise in the road, I was astounded to see the long slender vertical line of a tornado over the city in front of us. Looking at the bottom of the funnel cloud, I could distinguish a furious mass of black wind pummeling the streets. Although the tornado was far away, I could see that it was headed in our direction.
We continued down a dip in the street, ascended another rise, and then saw that the tornado was aimed straight toward us. We passed under an overpass, and at first I thought Steve was going to stop there. I was unsure whether stopping under the overpass would be prudent, considering the overpass might fall on us. He did not stop, but continued driving. When we passed in front of a large church, I told Steve to pull over. If I were going to die, I thought it would be best to die in front of a church. Steve, however, was not responding well to what I was saying. He did pull over just past the church, but he failed to put the car in park and we continued rolling for a ways before coming to a stop.
I jumped into the back seat while Steve sat practically catatonic behind the steering wheel. His window was down and I had to roll it up, for he couldn't seem to move. In the back seat were what appeared to be two large blankets, new and still in plastic covers. I lay down and pulled them over me, but I still looked out the window, waiting for the fury of the tornado. Gradually I could see the wind beginning to hit. A round gas or water tank in a nearby yard was suddenly blown over. I thought the tornado might actually lift the car into the air. Or it might blow a metal rod right through the car. However I didn't feel terribly afraid because I thought the chances were good that we would survive.
Dream Commentary of May 1, 2015
A church is a place for a community of people to meet in public, just as the Dream Journal is such a place. Neither will save a person from death, a particularly personal experience. Yet during life, both places seem to support those seeking to understand the relationship between life and death. Just as the hymns sung in church may last forever, so dreams written on the Dream Journal may last for eternity.
Dream Epics Home Page
The preceding is an actual dream included in my dream journal, and does not describe actual facts
Copyright 2015 by firstname.lastname@example.org