I don’t dream much. When I do it’s very mundane – the kind of universal boring dreams which psychologists love – the kind that are full of the classic “can’t get away” or “never reaching” or “being late” type scenarios. They’re dull and un-memorable.
Recently I had the most profoundly affecting dream. It was so real that I can’t distinguish whether I was called to do the activity, or whether the activity was purely a dream. Let me tell you the dream, and you’ll see what I mean.
I was climbing up a hill which resembled the side of Chalice Hill in Glastonbury. It was a lovely summer day – warm, light fluffy white clouds against a bright blue background. There were well-trodden paths which were dry and dusty. I was walking the paths, leading a group of people who I couldn’t see, but felt were friends who were following me.
At one point the path turned back on itself and I took the steepest route, straight up through a hedge and into a field.
At the top of the field the path went beneath shady trees. In this more confined space my nose caught a familiar foul smell – dog faeces. They littered the path and invited me to consider another way. I wouldn’t be deterred, however, despite the protests of the people I was leading. I soldiered on. It was important that I got further.
At the top of the path, in the woods, was a two-storey wooden house. Quickly I was inside it and up the stairs.
On the second floor was a long open gallery room. The only object in the room was a painting on the far wall.
As I approached the painting I could see that it was of a woman with dark hair who was dressed in a full-length scarlet dress. I remember thinking that she looked vaguely Spanish, in that traditional depiction of spanish women.
I stood looking at her picture because it seemed to come to life. I then realised I could hear a baby crying. It was her baby but I couldn’t see it. I just knew that she was distressed by this. In the painting, the lady’s face contorted in pain as she listened to the baby cry.
The crying sound is getting louder. I see that the lady needs to be released, so I offer her the chance. Silently she accepts.
I say “You don’t need to be here – you should be elsewhere. You know where.”
The sound increases to a violent scream, the pressure is building, the woman is writhing in pain. I gather my energy, my protection, and I focus the energy into my hands. I shout “GO!” and clap my hands.
At that moment I wake up – breathing hard. Wow – that was real! It was so intense! I check the clock – it’s 3am exactly.I’m surprised to find that, as I go to turn over in bed something gets caught on the sheet. It’s my toe nail. The nail of the fourth toe on my right foot has split. Not slightly – but completely across and quite far down too and now it’s snagging on the sheet. It takes me ten minutes to reluctantly peel it off (it was painful to tear it off), and then to file the remaining bits of the nail smooth so that it will no longer snag. How odd!?
I try to go back to sleep but I’m still thinking about the lady. I know that the lady went. I know that the baby stopped crying. I know that it was a dream. Yet I am left with a profound sense that I have done a spirit release somehow in my dreams.
How could that be so? Why did it happen? Was someone calling me to get involved in that process? Or was it all just a dream?