Dream of:01 November 1996 "An Actor In Church"
angels seen in dreams
may greet one again at the
hour of one's death
I was riding in a car with someone who was showing me the sights of the town. We had come to what appeared to be the central plaza which was a large green area about the size of a city block. All around the green area stood massive elegant houses, all sitting perched on hillocks which rose on every side around the central plaza. The person showing me around pointed to the houses and indicated that I could visit some. My guide pointed to one especially splendid house and told me that a lawyer lived there, and that we could visit the house, except that the lawyer was an alcoholic and was indisposed at the moment. So, instead, my guide drove the car to another house also inhabited by a lawyer and told us that we should be able to tour this house.
After descending from the car, we stood at the back door of the house, waiting for someone to open. Looking around, I noticed that someone had apparently been painting the back porch and that one of the paint brushes was still lying there on a shelf. The brush was still wet with the white paint which was being used to paint over the old red paint on the porch. Still waiting, I picked up the brush and painted a few strokes of white over the red myself, until I had used up the paint which had been left in the brush.
At the same time, as we waited to enter the lawyer's house, I reflected about how I was also a lawyer, and about my status as such. I would soon have no more legal clients – I had been working for quite some time to dispose of all my clients, and I was just about to finally succeed. I had intended not to take on any new clients, but now I was beginning to reconsider this proposition. I might possibly resume a law practice at some point in the future. I would not like to permanently practice law, but maybe I could practice for a limited period of time, such as for five years. If I did practice law again, I would probably focus on litigation, taking on all sorts of cases with the intention of trying them in court. That I was not an expert in any particular area would not matter - being able to handle myself well in court would be paramount. For example even though I had never worked on personal injury cases, I did not see that they would present much problem. I would simply need to prepare the petitions, file the law suits, prepare the case, and go to court.
Of course I also questioned where I would practice. Although I was only licensed in Texas, I might want to practice in another state. If practicing in another state proved to be a problem, I might have to pull some sleight. I might for example assume another identity, maybe of a lawyer who had died or who had left the state. Being admitted to practice in another state was not most important - having the knowledge to practice law was. And I had the knowledge.
Still lost in my thoughts, I realized I was no longer standing on the back porch, but that I had entered the building. Or at least I was in a building, although it was not at all what I had expected, for I found myself inside a church, or a mosque – for it had a large vaulted ceiling and an open central area like a mosque.
I had entered the church with my father, my mother, and my brother Chris (1957-1974). The three were sitting on the other side of the church while I walked around the perimeter, admiring the beauty of the place. It seemed that a service would soon take place, and I intended to go back and sit with them. Suddenly, however, I saw something which caused me to pause: Jesus Christ himself was standing over at the side, talking to some people listening to him.
Eight or nine people were lounging around on the gray and white marble floor in front of Christ. When I saw an open spot on the floor right in front of Christ, the opportunity seemed too good to pass up. I thought I had always wondered what hearing Christ himself speak would be like. And he looked like such a friendly person. With the feeling that hearing him speak in person would be something I would not want to miss, I sat down on the floor.
Christ had a long beard, tinged with gray. He seemed somehow familiar, and as he spoke, I felt comfortable sitting there listening to him. At least I felt comfortable until I realized that he was asking questions of the people sitting in front of him. I had not sat down with the intention of becoming involved in what was happening, and I definitely did not want to answer any questions, but now I felt trapped.
I now saw that we were sitting in rows, with three people in each row. One row was in front of me, while I sat in the middle of the second row. I ruefully realized that Christ was asking the same question of everyone, and that he had started with the person sitting at the left end (from my viewpoint) of the first row. Christ had then proceeded to the person in the middle of the front row, then to the person on the right of the front row, and then back to the person on my right in the second row. I would be the next one to have to answer the question. And I did not want to answer any questions. I just wanted to depart, but now I saw that it was too late. It was my turn and I must answer the question.
Suddenly, as Christ looked at me, waiting for me to answer, I did not feel so bad, and I was ready to answer. It was as if his gaze had calmed me. The question was quite simple. Christ had asked each of us to relate what we had done or experienced of significance the prior weekend. I had been reluctant to try to answer the question, because I was drawing a blank. It seemed to me that I had not done anything of significance the prior weekend, but now with Christ's patient gaze, it came to me and I began talking. I said, "My parents came down from Ohio this weekend to visit me. They brought my brother Chris with them."
At this point I started choking up. I could not speak. Sensing my emotion, Christ lay down on his side on the floor in front of me, facing me. I could tell that he knew what I was trying to say, but my emotion was so overwhelming, I simply had trouble speaking. It seemed as if I had previously tried to speak of what was now on my mind, but due to the powerful nature of my emotions regarding the subject, I had been unable to say anything before. Finally I continued, "I don't know how to explain it, but being around him is like being around an angel."
Finally I had found expression for what I had been trying to say, and Christ seemed to understand completely. Now I felt more voluble, and I continued talking about how I had come to regard Chris as a sort of angel. I described how angelic Chris had been when he had been alive, how I had never known anyone with such an angelic nature, but how I had never comprehended Chris' angelic nature until Chris had died. Now, however, his angelic nature was all clear to me, and I knew that Chris was the closest thing to an angel I had ever known. And when Chris had come with my parents to visit me over the weekend, it seemed as if I had had the fortune of again being with an angel.
I wondered if Chris and my parents could hear me talking from where they were sitting on the other side of the church. I wondered if they knew the sense of relief I felt. Knowing I had indeed experienced something of such significance during the previous weekend was quite a revelation to me, and I was glad the experience had been brought to my attention.
As I was summing up, I suddenly realized that Christ was not actually Christ at all. He was just an actor portraying Christ, but he certainly was a good actor. I wondered if he had been practicing his whole life for the role.
Dream Commentary of November 20, 2017
"... that Christ was not actually Christ at all..." seems similar to saying "... that God does not actually inspire my dreams..."
Dream Commentary of July 17, 2016
Whether angels actually exist is a question asked both by many members of churches and by many members of the Dream Journal.
Visitations by angels in dreams published on the Dream Journal are as hazy as visitations by angels in holy scriptures.
Dream Epics Home Page
Copyright 2017 by email@example.com