Update.
I am still trying to figure out more about that strange dream.
One of the strangest things about it was the wide spectrum of emotions I felt during the dream.
Benjamin pointed out that it was probably a result of two things: the Penn2 dart game I'd played in that afternoon was one. The other contributing factor was the shotgun shell (Winchester 12 gage... hmmm...) we found in the street by the married student apartments.
As gat as more details and a report of the emotions that washed through me, here goes.
I am curious as to who he was. Because, in my dream, I knew him. I should say that I had known him, past tense. Like, an old friend. And the three of us were doing something shady, some sort of crime. A drug deal or something. No, that's not right, either. I thought so at the time, but it was a guess as to why I was there, even in the dream. Weird.
Anyhow, I didn't want to shoot the guy, because I still considered him a friend. But he was preparing to shoot at me. The odd thing was that I shot at him and emptied my cylinder completely, and missed with every one. That's not odd- I'm a terrible shot. What IS odd is that I only put in one more bullet to do the job. That's way more confident than I'd ever actually be. Especially with such an inaccurate gun. Then, while he sat there laughing at my failed ego, I reloaded all six of 'em, yet two new bullets had no tips. Duds, they didn't even shoot.
But why was he only pretending to shoot back? Why was he sitting there, shooting "at" me, but nowhere near me?
The emotion I was feeling during all of this was fear, panic, and a tinge of terror. Duty. I knew that my only chance for survival was if he were dead.
Then, the three shots in the chest didn't kill him. Frustrations! Of course they didn't, I was only shooting a .22. So I let the last one go, and it went in above his eye. Odd- considering the situation, I got all four good bullets into his body, after missing with seven previous tries? It's as though I wasn't the one doing the aiming.
Also odd was that this dream was G-rated, almost. There was never any blood. I could have been shooting blanks, almost. The fact that I could never see any damage or wounds created a feeling of doubtful surprise in my mind.
But then that one went in over his eye, like I said. And he began to slump. With that, I felt relieved for my safety, but terrible for his. I felt a huge rush of loss flow out of my heart. In that instant, I knew it was someone I had cared about tremendously. I ran over to him, and stood behind him. He had been sitting on a bar stool. He was falling off backwards, so I caught him with my body weight- he was a bit stockier than me. I grabbed on to him, to keep him from falling to the floor without dignity. And I felt that I should comfort him.
The kicker is that I can't remember what words I whispered to him. It wasn't witnessing, I'm now pretty sure. Nor were they words of hate, or words of violence. But I said something to him, right before he died.
I am afraid that this may have been one of THOSE dreams in disguise. Except that I don't think this guy was supposed to be demonic. I really don't.
It's the guy that was with me I'm worried about. Dishonest, a liar he was. He never said much, yet somehow he was the one that was forcing me to kill the guy on the barstool. Yet the guy on the stool never shot at him, only me. Why is that?
I feel like it was all a game. That I was the butt end of a joke. Yet, he was dead.
And this time, he really did die. Go figure. They usually don't.
But only my closest friends know what that's about.
Sigh.
Do I pray about it, or shrug it off as just a weird dream?
One of the strangest things about it was the wide spectrum of emotions I felt during the dream.
Benjamin pointed out that it was probably a result of two things: the Penn2 dart game I'd played in that afternoon was one. The other contributing factor was the shotgun shell (Winchester 12 gage... hmmm...) we found in the street by the married student apartments.
As gat as more details and a report of the emotions that washed through me, here goes.
I am curious as to who he was. Because, in my dream, I knew him. I should say that I had known him, past tense. Like, an old friend. And the three of us were doing something shady, some sort of crime. A drug deal or something. No, that's not right, either. I thought so at the time, but it was a guess as to why I was there, even in the dream. Weird.
Anyhow, I didn't want to shoot the guy, because I still considered him a friend. But he was preparing to shoot at me. The odd thing was that I shot at him and emptied my cylinder completely, and missed with every one. That's not odd- I'm a terrible shot. What IS odd is that I only put in one more bullet to do the job. That's way more confident than I'd ever actually be. Especially with such an inaccurate gun. Then, while he sat there laughing at my failed ego, I reloaded all six of 'em, yet two new bullets had no tips. Duds, they didn't even shoot.
But why was he only pretending to shoot back? Why was he sitting there, shooting "at" me, but nowhere near me?
The emotion I was feeling during all of this was fear, panic, and a tinge of terror. Duty. I knew that my only chance for survival was if he were dead.
Then, the three shots in the chest didn't kill him. Frustrations! Of course they didn't, I was only shooting a .22. So I let the last one go, and it went in above his eye. Odd- considering the situation, I got all four good bullets into his body, after missing with seven previous tries? It's as though I wasn't the one doing the aiming.
Also odd was that this dream was G-rated, almost. There was never any blood. I could have been shooting blanks, almost. The fact that I could never see any damage or wounds created a feeling of doubtful surprise in my mind.
But then that one went in over his eye, like I said. And he began to slump. With that, I felt relieved for my safety, but terrible for his. I felt a huge rush of loss flow out of my heart. In that instant, I knew it was someone I had cared about tremendously. I ran over to him, and stood behind him. He had been sitting on a bar stool. He was falling off backwards, so I caught him with my body weight- he was a bit stockier than me. I grabbed on to him, to keep him from falling to the floor without dignity. And I felt that I should comfort him.
The kicker is that I can't remember what words I whispered to him. It wasn't witnessing, I'm now pretty sure. Nor were they words of hate, or words of violence. But I said something to him, right before he died.
I am afraid that this may have been one of THOSE dreams in disguise. Except that I don't think this guy was supposed to be demonic. I really don't.
It's the guy that was with me I'm worried about. Dishonest, a liar he was. He never said much, yet somehow he was the one that was forcing me to kill the guy on the barstool. Yet the guy on the stool never shot at him, only me. Why is that?
I feel like it was all a game. That I was the butt end of a joke. Yet, he was dead.
And this time, he really did die. Go figure. They usually don't.
But only my closest friends know what that's about.
Sigh.
Do I pray about it, or shrug it off as just a weird dream?
posted by Elmo at 9:13 PM
4 Comments:
Pray about it, but don't worry... I hope you find that peace.
I had a really strange dream awhile ago and it left me haunted. Those images can be so so real.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7
pray about it dude.. when has praying ever been a bad idea? Just dont' stress about it.. stressing about it is always a bad idea.
Pray that God will reveal to you what He wants you to learn if there is anything at all... peace bro...
Benjamin
yo check out my blog.. I actually wrote something
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