Dreams

Dreams mean many things to many different people. To some, they are just nonsensical wanderings of a mind trying to rest and recharge. To others, it can be a window into your subconscious. To still others, it can be a way for the untapped portions of the human mind to awaken with E. S. P. and precognition.

I tend to have leanings toward the first school of thought, that dreams mean nothing in the same way a screen saver on a computer means nothing. That if you had a bad dream it just means you ate some bad chili before you went to bed or something similar.

I have had good dreams and bad. I usually do not remember dreaming at all. The dreams that I remember are usually startling in their clarity or just shocking. I have dreamed of being one of the few survivors of a Zombie Apocalypse struggling against the horde. I have dreamed of being a stock car driver, a dragon slayer, and of being married with a Wife and Children. I have even dreamed of my own death at the hands of Conan the Barbarian. I was fairly certain that it was impossible to die in a dream, but have since found that it is actually common to do so.

I have even had a couple of dreams of spending time with my Father, who as of September 4th died 9 years ago. As nice as these dreams are, I still believe that they are nothing more than an Idea manifested into a visualization so the brain can rest in some weird way. That is until last night.

Last night I dreamed of him again. The dream was rather strange and detailed in its entirety and will skip most of it here.

I was out conducting Home Visits, a routine part of my Job, when a rather non-routine situation arose at a particular house and I had to call 911 for assistance. As Deputies arrived and began handling the situation, two uniforms approached me. One was my Father in his best Class A High Sheriff Uniform. The other was also my Father, but twenty years younger, skinnier, a head full of hair, and wearing a regular Deputy Uniform.

I noticed that the Deputy version was looking me up and down, sizing me up, and what he saw...he only has contempt for. The Sheriff asked me how I am holding up, and I gave him what was my usual answer, "Fine" along with a rundown of what happened in the situation.

As I finished my tale, the Deputy version scoffed and said "I could have handled that without crying for help." But, the voice was not that of my Father, but my own. The Deputy continued with his speech, "I'm not a quitter. I'm a member of the Greatest SWAT team in the Country. I'm an accomplished marksman, you should see all the 1st place trophies in my case. I'm married and have a Child on the way. What do you have? You've accomplished nothing but failure!"

I was brought almost to tears by that comments and was about to throw a retort back when the Sheriff said, "Don't pay him any attention, he's my shadow. He is who you believe you should be. But, he isn't real. He isn't the man I raised. I didn't raise you to be just another me. You have blazed your own path in life and stepped out of my shadow to become the man that you are. And for that I am proud of you." As he took me in his arms, the alarm clock went off.

I have never hated that alarm clock any more than in those moments after waking up and was this || close to shooting it.

Now, I do not know if God allows the Dead to truly come to us in our dreams to speak to us. Or more likely just my subconscious mind, knowing of my inner struggles and demons, providing a visualization of those darkest fears and most cherished hopes. But, I do know that this dream is one that I hope to always remember.

Semper Fi Deus

Goose