Comet Dust - Inspired by a Dream

The Dream That Got Me Interested in The Warning

I was about 20-years-old when I had the dream that would later inspire me to write Comet Dust, an apocalyptic novel based on real prophecy. If you read the novel, you will see how it influenced the book. 

I was in college at the time, had fallen away from the faith, and considered myself an atheist. The dream isn't the reason why I became a believer a few years later, but it was part of it. 

Here it is:
Dusk is falling. The leaves of the trees are green (I think we were deep into the summer season or early fall). I'm driving in the country and have the sudden urge to attend Mass (which was out of character for me in real life). I find a small church with a gravel parking lot and a white clapboard façade. I enter and am surprised by the beautiful, grand, Gothic nature inside. There are two ledges in the church with life-sized bronze/copper statues of Mary on the end near the alter. On the other side is Joseph or possibly Jesus.
I kneel and say a few prayers without much thought then slide back into the pew to watch others straggle in. The music starts, but the pews are sparsely populated. A frail old priest with a wispy gray beard, wearing maroon robes with gold trim and a pointy hat enters (later on in life I learned this is called a miter). He carries a golden staff and proceeds down the aisle. Again, I am surprised—not expecting such a grand display, and judging by his robes, a bishop of high rank, in such a simple church in the middle of nowhere. 
The Mass begins. I am not paying much attention. The sound of rain pings and seems to be quickly turning into a deluge. Rumblings of thunder are heard outside. The storm intensifies. The people in the pews are growing concerned, but the old bishop-priest conducts himself as if nothing is happening outside. The wind howls with the ferocity of wild beasts as he drones on about forgettable things during his sermon. His words seem like cotton candy fluff and don't address the troubled state of the world, so I quickly lose interest. 
I glance around the church and notice the outlines of trees through the stain-glass windows. The trunks are bending so deeply in the wind that the top branches batter against the ground. I glance up at the statues of Mary and Joseph. Is it my imagination or are they moving? I'm horrified when they raise their hands up to the heavens, as if they have finally grown tired of interceding for humanity and are calling down God's wrath.
Others see the statues moving too. Cries and screams of panic rise up among the people. The earth starts to shake. The bishop-priest is as scared as the rest of us, maybe even more so, because he runs down the aisle, past me toward the doors, with a look of terror on his face. I feel shocked and betrayed because our leader is abandoning us during our darkest hour. The building starts to split apart. Huge pieces of the ceiling and walls crumble, crushing people. 
I get down on my knees to pray, knowing instinctively that if I can say, "Jesus, Mary, I love you," that somehow that will save me. I try to say it, but the words won't come. Instead a dry, authoritative voice penetrates me; saying, "You cannot say what you do not mean for God knows the truth in every man's heart." I am female, but I knew that He meant me. Death was coming for me--coming for us all.
Next thing I know, I'm standing in the middle of a void on a gray and blue chess board surrounded by walls of billowing gray fog rising up and up. I can't see God, but I feel His Presence. Not in a good and comforting way, but in a horrific and overpowering way. I am being judged.
My soul is like a crystal covered with black creosote build-up on the inside. The  sins make my soul dark. I don't see specific transgressions, but I sense their general effect. I try to make excuses as to what I've become, wanting to explain why I did this or that, sure I can make Him understand. But it isn't like in life where we can manipulate the truth to get out of something or get what we want. As I am exposed before God, there are no excuses. I can't defend my actions or lack thereof. The truth of who I am speaks for me. I realize the jig is up. The test is complete. My life is over. What is done is done. The last card has been played. The finality of the moment is utterly devastating. God doesn't announce the verdict. I simply know: Hell. I belong in Hell. I cannot express the devastation of knowing that all is finished. My path is set in stone. There are no more chances. Redemption is not an option. All hope is gone.
The square beneath my feet opens like a trap door. Resigned to my fate, I don't scream as I fall into blackness, into the empty void where there is no God, forever lost in eternal separation, never to be completed or to know love or joy. Everything is blackness. The separation from light and goodness brings unimaginable pain. Knowing it will be unending, the sorrow is indescribable. 
Yet, the dream continues. 
I wake up covered in dust and debris from the wreckage of the church. I have somehow escaped final judgment. I am alive and beyond grateful for a second chance. But as I dust myself off, I see the skeleton of what was once a pretty church. Hands and feet of corpses stick out of the bricks and mortar. Most people are dead, but a few mill around in a daze. It seems like only a minute has passed since the judgment, but the season has changed to spring, and dusk has become dawn. The sky is all pink and beautiful. Twigs, leaves and wreckage from the storm litter the ground. When I gaze across the horizon, I can hardly believe my eyes. 
There in the sky, larger than any mountain, is Jesus Christ Himself. He's dressed in flowing white and blue robes, looking luminous, glorious, and full of power. Rays of white and red light pour from His wounds. I fall to my knees in awe and wonder. In the past, I wasn't one to humble myself, but the desire to worship and adore Him is strong and feels natural and right. 
Before this moment, I had always pictured Jesus as a nice, fuzzy, fellow and kind of wimpy. How mistaken I have been! Seeing His Glory fill the sky makes it clear that He is truly the Almighty Living God. I cannot emphasize how awesome a sight this was.
At the same time, I feel a new connection to the other survivors. We are being given the task to rebuild the world based on the knowledge that Jesus Christ is God and King. We know the Church will be simpler and holier--better. Through some sort of infused knowledge, we also knew the storm wasn't just in our locale, but world wide. Mankind should have ended, but it didn't. No one spoke, but due to this shared union we feel between us (a detail I often leave out of the description of the dream because it's difficult to put into words--not really mind-reading, or a psychic connection, but something there is no word for--yet), I know we are all pondering the same thing. Why hadn't God completely destroy the world? Why were we spared? 
In answer to our question, a gigantic rosary appears in the sky, framing Jesus in an oval. I instantly know the Rosary has saved me. Saved the entire world. A mission is pressed upon us survivors. Our task of rebuilding civilization is to be based on the knowledge that Jesus is God. His will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Once this is understood, Jesus fades away, I presume to go back to heaven until the end of the the world. Nonetheless, though invisible, He remains, reigning on Earth in a deeper way than ever before. And that's the end of the dream. 
I woke up in a sweat, heart pounding, wondering if it had really happened—it was that real to me! Almost thirty years later, even though it was a dream, I can say the judgment therein was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me. You would think I would have instantly changed my evil ways. However, I didn't. My focus was on the terrible judgment where I was sent to Hell and the hopelessness that followed. God is forgiving--sure, but there are conditions. He is also about justice. It took me a long time to appreciate the knowledge that  if only I had truly loved Him, I would have survived. And that the Rosary, somehow, will pay a role in my salvation and all of the world's.

Years later I encountered the picture of the Divine Mercy for the first time and was struck by the similarity of the image of Jesus in my dream. Nor did I know about the Warning or Illumination of Conscience when I had the dream. Of course, the subject of The Warning majorly caught my attention when I came across it later on.

Anyway, that was the dream that I interspersed throughout Comet Dust.

That year I had two more within a few months of each other. They were not as spectacular as the first one and were of a more personal nature. I can't say if any of my dreams are prophetic. I do have good imagination, which is a strike against them. It's possible they sprang from my own mind. At this point, only God knows for sure. Thanks for reading.



2 comments:

  1. I might post my other dreams later.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Wow, thank you so much for sharing that dream. I really enjoyed your book!

    ReplyDelete

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