“Tis strange, – but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction: if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!”
~ George Gordon Byron, Don Juan
*Please note that I have changed the names below to protect the privacy of those involved.
I dreamt the oddest dream the other night. It was one of those dreams so rich in detail – the sounds, the smells, the textures and emotions – that it might have been real. Me, transposed into some other reality through the mechanism of my dream.
I sat beside Ben in a big white American-style utility. We were in heavy traffic in an unfamiliar city, my husband behind the wheel and me looking all around at the buildings and the many lanes that were converging on a five-ways. As we began to merge I saw a vehicle towing a closed in trailer cut across the lanes to reach an exit on the other side of the road. A semi was bearing down upon them. I knew there wasn’t enough time. The truck hit the car and trailer, pushing them along and into other traffic.
Ben began to take evasive action as time slowed down. I was aware of every detail. There seemed an abundance of time and yet so little to be done. The crunching, grinding sound was sickening. I was sure that we would become part of the unfolding accident. Sure we would be badly injured or killed. My heart raced at the truly chaotic and terrifying scene.
Suddenly it was over. Our car was safely stopped. The truck and other cars were stopped. Debris was everywhere. People came running from all directions. I flung open my door, assaulted by the smell of burning brakes, rubber, metal and fuel. On the asphalt ahead of us was a small boy. His shirt and jacket were shredded, and he had an open wound in his chest. He was crying out for his mother, over and over. Mum, mum, mum.
I dropped down beside him, picked him up and cradled him in my arms, frantically looking around for some help. His blood was soaking my shirt. I pressed my fingers into the wound, trying to staunch the flow, and the boy looked up at me.
‘Am I dying?’ he asked. ‘It hurts.’
His voice didn’t sound like a child’s. He spoke with the voice of a man.
I somehow knew the truth, that yes, he was dying. I nodded yes.
‘I’m frightened,’ he said. He started to cry. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have taken my bike out today.’
I’m still dreaming, I thought to myself. I’m not really here.
Beyond us I saw a badly damaged motorbike on the ground. I looked down again and it was no longer a little boy, but a man whose head and chest were on my lap as I cradled him in my arms.
‘Mum,’ the man said. He squeezed my hand hard. ‘Thanks for coming. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve screwed everything up.’
‘I’m not your mother,’ I managed to say.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘My mother is already passed. My name is Andy. Andy Little.’ Bubbles of blood were coming out of his mouth.
I held Andy’s hand and stroked his hair. I whispered to him to not be afraid. That it would all be okay.
A woman in white walked towards us through the smoke and debris. ‘I’ll take him now,’ she said. I looked down and Andy’s eyes had glazed. The woman was gone. Andy was dead.
I woke up crying.
The dream stayed with me, and I couldn’t let it go. It affected me so strongly that I vomited. My head ached all day and I felt exhausted and disoriented. I offered up prayers for Andy, and held space for him in my meditations.
Finally, days later, I decided to google the name. Andy Little had been killed in a multiple vehicle accident at around the time of my dream, in a city on the other side of the world. He had been riding a motorbike. His photo matched the face of the man from my dream.
He had no next of kin.
I still feel so sad. I can’t explain it. Was it a dream? Was I there? What does it all mean? I do know that Andy is with his mum now, and for him, everything will be okay.
This life of mine is so strange at times. I hope that in some way, energetically, I was there and was able to offer Andy comfort as he passed. To think that gives me a measure of comfort too.
What a blessing and privilege it was for you to be a part of Andy’s passing. You truly have many wonderful gifts and I am so glad that you share them so freely with the world. Namaste.
Am stunned. Feel as though I just went through this experience with you. How to come back from an experience like this? What do you do for yourself for grounding, to shift back to your own life? . . .to have peace again
It must be a strange in your world Nicole but equally rewarding …
Cherryx
Peace be unto Andy and his mom. Much Love.
I don’t even have regular normal dreams much less anything that would be helpful to someone else. It’s good you were able to be with him on an astral level.
Wow! I so resonate with what Joyce says. Thanks for sharing xxx
Your psychic gifts amaze me. Could it be that your fate with Lyme disease has also given you this special gift…made you more aware? They say when one has a “disability” the body compensates by giving other areas of the body heightened awareness. Just thinking….
Oh Nicole, what a dream! Way before I got to the part where you googled Andy Little, I knew you had astral travelled. As much as this was a heart wrenching dream for you to not only experience, but also to recall in such vivid detail, I would like to offer the advice to take from it the positive….how privileged you were to be there for Andy. There was no other way to get you into that scene than to give you confirmation by showing how valued you are by spirit, how gifted you are on a soul level of knowing what to do and what to say to someone so close to death, and how they chose “you”, to be there for Andy in those last scary moments of his life. You were the one chosen to hold him, to tell him the truth and to be with him as he passed. No one better could have been that person, other than you. I also believe that they gave you the memory of Andy’s name, the details of his accident and the information he gave you, so that you could have verification in “real life” that you had been on a “rescue mission” as you slept. Yes, the traumatic experience and memory has left you feeling wretched but on the other hand, Andy is with his mum. She was the one person he loved unconditionally and even as a man, she was the only person he didn’t want to disappoint. Feel blessed Nicole and now choose to focus on the wonder of spirit and the happiness of Andy as he is now reunited with his mum. Thank you so much for sharing your dream. xx
Nicole,It sounds like you know what you were doing in the dream. I will share with you an experience I had years ago that reminds me of yours. It must have occurred in my sleep, but it seemed very real. I remember being in the car of someone who was driving alone. I didn’t know this person. I was behind their right shoulder, not in a body per se, but more like a spirit in the car.
I had some sort of communication with the woman, but not out loud. It seemed to be about reassurance, perhaps even about her not being alone. She was driving slowly on a residential street, and suddenly she slumped over at the steering wheel. The next thing I knew, I was gone, but I also knew (at some deep level) I had been there to help her.
I didn’t consciously know anything about this sort of soul level (astral?) work at the time, but I still somehow knew that was my ‘job’/role in that moment of her transition, and it was all perfectly orchestrated. When I woke up my ego mind was perplexed and doubting, but my soul felt very peaceful and fulfilled. I believe I have had other such experiences since then, but don’t usually remember anything clearly. It seems like I once read something about how many souls do this at night. Thanks for writing so eloquently about your experience, and perhaps opening our consciousness about this expanded level of our soul’s functioning. Blessings,Sharon From: Cauldrons and Cupcakes To: sharonppierce@yahoo.com Sent: Friday, September 4, 2015 4:11 PM Subject: [New post] The Strange Dream With The Even Stranger Twist #yiv7296826570 a:hover {color:red;}#yiv7296826570 a {text-decoration:none;color:#0088cc;}#yiv7296826570 a.yiv7296826570primaryactionlink:link, #yiv7296826570 a.yiv7296826570primaryactionlink:visited {background-color:#2585B2;color:#fff;}#yiv7296826570 a.yiv7296826570primaryactionlink:hover, #yiv7296826570 a.yiv7296826570primaryactionlink:active {background-color:#11729E;color:#fff;}#yiv7296826570 WordPress.com | Cauldrons and Cupcakes posted: ““Tis strange, – but true; for truth is always strange;Stranger than fiction: if it could be told,How much would novels gain by the exchange!How differently the world would men behold!”~ George Gordon Byron, Don Juan *Please note that ” | |
So grateful you were with him. Hope you are doing well soon. Big hug! 😘
You were there. No doubt.