Dream of: 25 November 1995 "Tornadoes"

Three other fellows and I were sitting around a table in the kitchen of the Gallia County Farmhouse, playing a game. As part of the game, each of us took turns making up a dream to relate to the others. Whoever made up the best dream would win the game.

One of the fellows asked if he could drink a beer while we played the game. Noticing my step-grandfather Clarence standing at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, I told the fellow this wasn't my house, but Clarence's. If Clarence didn't mind, it was all right with me.

When the game began, I was supposed to be the first one to tell a dream. But after I had sat and thought for a while, nothing came to my mind. Finally in frustration I told the others that I passed, that I needed more time to think.

After passing my turn, I concentrated more deeply until I sunk into a meditative state. A clear image of two small tornadoes, each about a meter tall, appeared in my mind. I watched the little tornadoes whisk through the front door of the Farmhouse and into the living room. Both tornadoes had black whirling lines, almost like something drawn in a cartoon. I recalled that in the past – when I had had dreams of tornadoes – I had concluded that God had appeared to me in the tornadoes, that God used the tornadoes as a means of disguise.

As I continued trying to maintain the image, trying to fabricate a dream, I suddenly recognized a problem: I couldn't consciously reproduce the feeling of a dream. No matter how intensely I tried, the images which I was imagining still didn't seem like a dream, because I knew they weren't real. Conversely, I knew if I were actually having a dream, no matter how illogical the events, I would believe the events to be real. I concluded the dream state was one which I simply couldn't duplicate when I was awake.

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