The following is an actual dream included in my dream journal, and does not describe actual factsDream of: 06 August 1994 "Something To Do With God"
As I was riding on the passenger side of a pickup truck being driven by a stocky black-haired man (probably in his early 30s), I suddenly had a strong premonition that I was in a dangerous situation and that the man was going to wreck the truck. I groped for my seat belt, which I hadn't yet buckled, and strapped it across my waist. I found the shoulder strap and also strapped it on. We weren't traveling that fast and the man seemed to be driving well enough. Could I trust my premonition? I quickly decided I could. I didn't understand how, but I knew I was in imminent danger.
Just ahead of us on our right was a two car accident. As we passed the wrecked cars, my driver deliberately grazed one car, a white one, then laughed. Our truck undamaged, he continued on without braking. But I had seen enough and when the truck eventually came to a stop, I jumped out.
Standing on the sidewalk, I raised my eyes and observed a large dull-red brick church in front of me. I regularly passed down this street, but I had never taken notice of this church before, or at least I had never noticed how huge it was. I thought it must be necessary to actually stand in front of the church – as I was now doing – to appreciate its magnificence.
A name on the church resembled the appellation of a church which I had heard about in Portsmouth when I had been young. I couldn't remember having ever attended the church, but it seemed my family had once intended to go there.
The sight of the church affected me emotionally. I knew my feelings had something to do with God, but I couldn't precisely understand them. I just knew the church had a pronounced impact on me.
Some other people were walking in the area, and I noticed one woman in particular who was standing at the top of the doors in the front of the church. Along the sides of the arched doorways to the church, there appeared to be large red stones which were laid like steps of a stairs, so one could actually walk up to the top of the doors. As I watched the woman descending the stairs, I thought I might even want to walk to the top of the doors myself. Wondering if it might even be possible to ascend to the roof, I scanned the rooftops for signs of people.
The voice of a man who had walked up close to me abruptly interrupted my musings. He was probably in his 50s, and I had the uncertain feeling he might be connected with the church. When I felt his eyes on me, I realized I had a gray hood pulled up over my head, so only my face was visible. He asked me if I would like to confess. As I replied, I began to feel tears in my eyes. I didn't particularly want to cry in front of the man, but the tears offered me some solace. I explained to him that I didn't confess, that I had never confessed. I couldn't see his reaction, but I thought I heard him utter something about a special woman who could hear confessions of people like me. I had the feeling he thought I was a desperate case, but that there still might be some hope for me.
I had escaped from a prison. I was on the run, in a large field in the country, perhaps somewhere near Mexico. To avoid being captured and returned to prison, I thought I needed new identification: I needed to figure out how to assume someone else's identity. I needed a social security number and a passport. Perhaps I could even assume the identity of my brother Chris (who had died of muscular dystrophy) or of my other brother Adolph (who had drowned in Symmes Creek when we were young boys) and obtain the papers in one of their names; but I doubted that would work.
As I walked along a fence in the field, I noticed a lake on the other side where large rodent-like animals were swimming. I couldn't remember the name of the animals, but I knew I had seen pictures of them before. The animals somewhat resembled beavers, with the same kind and color of fur. But they didn't have tails like beavers, and they were as a large as a man. I concluded the animals were being raised by someone on this farm. I found the animals interesting and wished there was some way I could also work on this farm.
I reached the top of a small hill, from where I could see the surrounding countryside. It was a well-kept farm, with lakes scattered all about. It would be a nice place to work.
I was standing in a field next to a small helicopter. The helicopter pilot, a tall wiry man with black hair, was also standing beside the helicopter. He was dressed in a flying uniform and looked as if he were probably in his early 30s.
Parts of the helicopter were scattered about on the ground around the helicopter, and the man was in the process of fitting the pieces back on the helicopter. Although I didn't know much about helicopters, I had learned some things, and I was able to help him. He appreciated my help, and I had the hope that I would be able to work for him regularly. Maybe with a job like this, I could manage to establish a new identity for myself and not have to return to prison.
Another man showed up and began questioning my benefactor about why the helicopter was in such disarray. The new man didn't seem to like my presence and I feared my employment was about to come to an end.
I had returned to the prison. Since I had only been gone one day, I hoped no one had noticed my absence. Before my escape, I had been given special treatment at the prison. If my escape had been discovered, I would now lose my special privileges.
One special privilege I had was my room, located on about the fourth floor of a building which seemed like a dormitory. When I arrived at the door of the room, I was carrying a bicycle. I opened the door and walked in. To my disappointment, a woman (only about 20 years old) whom I recognized was sitting on the floor beside the bed. She was also a prisoner. It was instantly clear that my escape had been discovered and that she had been given my room. She was obviously worried she might lose the room now that I had returned. After advising her not to worry about it, I turned and walked out of the room with my bicycle.
As I carried my bicycle down the stairs to the first floor, I knew what I had to do. While at the prison, I had had a special job, working in the kitchen. The food at the prison was of excellent quality, and reminded me of the tasty food prepared by the Hari Krishna people. I walked through the hall until I came to the door to the kitchen. First I looked at the door, then nervously opened it.
Inside the kitchen, standing before me, was my boss. Visibly angry, he seized me by the collar. I knew I was in serious trouble, but I hoped that by having returned, I might somehow redeem myself. My boss was a husky man, probably in his mid 40s, reminiscent of a football coach. I knew that he used to like me, but that now he was angry and disappointed that I had run away.
I quickly pleaded that I had only planned to stay away for one day, that I hadn't intended to escape, and that I had returned voluntarily. I could tell that he was weighing my story, and when I picked up a piece of food and put it in my mouth, no one hindered me. I was famished and the food tasted excellent.
I had the feeling that there might be some hope that I could regain my old privileges, but I knew I would be severely punished first. I was ready to accept that.
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