One of the books I’ve been reading while on vacation has a central theme of abusive male authority figures, which may have inspired this dream.
In this dream, I had passed away at a young age, and appeared standing outside our old childhood home, surrounded by dozens of mourners who stood sobbing their hearts out on the driveway. My two sisters were next to me, and according to my dream notes, they were the only people in the crowd who were aware that I was present as a spirit. Everyone who was there mourning my loss pleaded with my sisters and the kind family who had taken up residence in our old home to find some sort of memorabilia to remember me by. The new owners kindly obliged, and allowed my sisters to enter the house to look one last time for any piece of memory.
This was a lucid dream, where I was intimately aware of the plot and in full control of what I could say or do. I was keenly aware that our family had taken every last bit of our belongings from this house before we had finished moving. The odds of us finding anything to remember me by here were next to nil. Nonetheless, we three siblings walked through our old childhood home in wistful silence, on the lookout for anything we could give to the weeping onlookers.
We headed for the basement, sadly remarking that everything had changed since we had moved. We couldn’t recognize any of the furniture, and it was clear that the new family living here had made the house their own. We continued to walk through the basement to the laundry room, where there was an old cedar closet where we kids had occasionally stored old winter items that couldn’t be used during off seasons. It was at this moment, when we opened the door to the cedar closet, that things took an incredibly surreal turn in this dream.
What was originally a small closet space with a separate adjoining room for the water heater had somehow transformed into a bizarrely long hall extending far in front of us, with a handful of separate rooms joined together. The three of us were unnerved, because we couldn’t fathom why the new inhabitants of our old house would have had any reason to vastly extend the old cedar closet. That, and the amount of space required to expand the closet underground would’ve likely, and logically, interfered with our neighbors’ basements. We chose to investigate, and walked through the chain of adjoined rooms, on the lookout for any sign as to what their purposes were.
At the end of this new hallway was a cul-de-sac like room with several doors surrounding us on all sides. For fans of the Harry Potter series, this new room was eerily similar to the Department of Mysteries, that dark circular room containing all of those doors leading to unknown spaces beyond. Most of these doors were marked as exit doors with those red-lit exit signs propped on top of them, and alarm mechanisms attached. My littlest sister almost touched one of these doors out of curiosity, but I gently warned her not to, aware now that we weren’t alone in this room. The three of us walked to the end of the doors on our right, where a golden plaque designating one of the doors as the entrance to a man’s counseling space was hung to the side. I warned my sisters to get behind me and let me deal with any potential danger, because I knew that as a spirit, no actual harm could come to me. With that, we banged the door open.
To our fright, we beheld an adult man pinning a terrorized boy to the wall, brandishing a pocket knife at his victim. This man had the most sadistic grin on his face as he turned to look at us. Before we could react, he whirled away from the boy to attack me with his knife. He slashed me on my hand and stabbed me on my left shoulder right above my heart, and in a rare circumstance for one of my dreams, I saw blood and I felt pain.
Just before the dream unfortunately ended, I sneered at the man and told him brazenly, “You idiot! You can’t kill me when I’m already dead!”
It took me a few hours after I had woken up to determine how the dream was supposed to end, and what it all meant. I had been sent back to my old childhood home in this dream to help this poor kid escape the clutches of his captor, who had kept him down there for an unknown period of time. This man had somehow plowed through what was originally a tiny cedar closet to create an underground prison, somehow hidden from the house’s new residents. It is beyond me how he was able to trap that poor kid down there in the first place, away from any prying eyes. The more I think about the nature of this insidious man, the more uncomfortable I get.
At the end of this dream, the three of us were meant to return from the underground area with that kid in tow, returning him to the surface to the surprise and joy of the onlookers. The memento we had found was unwitting, atypical and symbolic. Instead of giving my mourners an inanimate object to grasp, by having us rescue this forsaken kid who no one had known was imprisoned beneath our old home, God had cleverly given my loved ones a sign that I was still present and around to help others.
It neither surprises nor worries me that the dream indirectly stated that I had died at a young age. This has been a minor but recurring theme in my dreams for I’d say the last two years, and was especially notable in a dream I had last winter. In that dream, I was given a rich, spiritually symbolic dream of what my church funeral service would look like, where after everyone in the pews had finished saying goodbye to me, the entire Divine Trinity physically manifested to escourt me to Heaven. The thought of dying young doesn’t scare me anymore, because what do I have to fear after I’ve received these beautiful dreams? Why should I or would I be afraid, when God lovingly showed me that I have nothing to fear on the other side?
And what an awesome future this would be, if this newest dream comes to fruition! The idea of serving as a divine espionage agent helping the vulnerable is endearing to say the least.