Chat
11-08-2015, 05:49 PM
6Nov15
No intention set, beyond just getting some good sleep.
On a mountain with other people. We're moving quickly and quietly through the trees and rocks. Some take up positions. I take position behind a rock. There's someone with me, a man I don't know. We're dressed in camo. He's in full battle rattle, I'm just in the basic CDU. He's armed, locked and loaded. I'm not carrying any weapons but somehow we both know I'm the weapon and he's there to protect me during the fighting. There's an enemy and a feel or sense of determination mixed with desperation. We've been fighting this enemy for a long time. They're like dragons but not dragons. They fly and are seemingly invulnerable. Very little affects them. I'm one of a handful of people who are capable of channeling energy into light that sears, which is the only thing that seems to kill them. I look over at my partner and ask if we're having fun yet. He gives me a terse smile, checks his weapon, tells me to strap my damned helmet on, how many times does he have to tell me that? I tell him he knows how much I hate wearing hats. He says it's not a hat, it's the thing that will keep my brain from being fried. I sigh and make an elaborate show of strapping my helmet beneath my chin. We hear a roar. Dirt, pebbles, and other debris begins to swirl around us. I peek around the edge of the rock. Incoming, I say. Time to do your thing, he says. Yay, me, I say.
Standing with a group of people, all kitted out in battle gear. We're chatting. A man walking along the dirt road behind us. He's blonde, wearing a blue dress shirt and khaki pants, which really catches my attention. I say something about fighting and protecting, loud enough for the man to hear. He doesn't stop walking but I hear him say that if I continue, he'll return. I jog in his direction. Catch up with him. Tell him if he does, I'll be waiting for him and does he really want to go through that again?. He stops. Looks at me for a bit. Doesn't speak. Starts walking again.
There's a break in the fighting. Some down time. I'm with a group who are listening to announcements. Standing next to me is a big guy with long blond hair. He reminds me of Clay Matthews of the GB Packers. I know he's having a hard time. PTSD big time but we can't risk losing any more fighters so he keeps fighting. Most people steer clear of him because he's so volatile and can get violent. Yet I'm not afraid of him. Ask him how he's doing. He says, I'm 40-40-40 and hanging in there. I respond with something, I don't remember, and wrap my arms around him in a big hug. He hugs me back, clinging to me. We don't really know each other but I know he's in a dark place, no matter what he says.
Over the past few years, I've had several dreams about a mountain. The mountain has always represented a portal of some sorts. I've watched it in those dreams, and in each dream I get a bit closer to the mountain. This was the first time I was on the mountain.
I don't know what the flying things were. Like I said, they were dragons but not dragons. They resembled dragons and they flew but the similarities ended there. Whatever they were, they were kicking our butts because no conventional weapon worked against them. I had a sense everything had been tried, even nuclear weapons. All that worked was whatever it was I and the others like me were able to do.
There was also a sense of years passing. The war had been going on a long time. Heavy losses. Yet somehow we kept going. Kept fighting. We would fight until there was no one left.
I have no idea what the 40-40-40 reference meant. I don't often get numbers in my dreams so when I do, I pay attention. I know it means something important but I have no clue what.
No intention set, beyond just getting some good sleep.
On a mountain with other people. We're moving quickly and quietly through the trees and rocks. Some take up positions. I take position behind a rock. There's someone with me, a man I don't know. We're dressed in camo. He's in full battle rattle, I'm just in the basic CDU. He's armed, locked and loaded. I'm not carrying any weapons but somehow we both know I'm the weapon and he's there to protect me during the fighting. There's an enemy and a feel or sense of determination mixed with desperation. We've been fighting this enemy for a long time. They're like dragons but not dragons. They fly and are seemingly invulnerable. Very little affects them. I'm one of a handful of people who are capable of channeling energy into light that sears, which is the only thing that seems to kill them. I look over at my partner and ask if we're having fun yet. He gives me a terse smile, checks his weapon, tells me to strap my damned helmet on, how many times does he have to tell me that? I tell him he knows how much I hate wearing hats. He says it's not a hat, it's the thing that will keep my brain from being fried. I sigh and make an elaborate show of strapping my helmet beneath my chin. We hear a roar. Dirt, pebbles, and other debris begins to swirl around us. I peek around the edge of the rock. Incoming, I say. Time to do your thing, he says. Yay, me, I say.
Standing with a group of people, all kitted out in battle gear. We're chatting. A man walking along the dirt road behind us. He's blonde, wearing a blue dress shirt and khaki pants, which really catches my attention. I say something about fighting and protecting, loud enough for the man to hear. He doesn't stop walking but I hear him say that if I continue, he'll return. I jog in his direction. Catch up with him. Tell him if he does, I'll be waiting for him and does he really want to go through that again?. He stops. Looks at me for a bit. Doesn't speak. Starts walking again.
There's a break in the fighting. Some down time. I'm with a group who are listening to announcements. Standing next to me is a big guy with long blond hair. He reminds me of Clay Matthews of the GB Packers. I know he's having a hard time. PTSD big time but we can't risk losing any more fighters so he keeps fighting. Most people steer clear of him because he's so volatile and can get violent. Yet I'm not afraid of him. Ask him how he's doing. He says, I'm 40-40-40 and hanging in there. I respond with something, I don't remember, and wrap my arms around him in a big hug. He hugs me back, clinging to me. We don't really know each other but I know he's in a dark place, no matter what he says.
Over the past few years, I've had several dreams about a mountain. The mountain has always represented a portal of some sorts. I've watched it in those dreams, and in each dream I get a bit closer to the mountain. This was the first time I was on the mountain.
I don't know what the flying things were. Like I said, they were dragons but not dragons. They resembled dragons and they flew but the similarities ended there. Whatever they were, they were kicking our butts because no conventional weapon worked against them. I had a sense everything had been tried, even nuclear weapons. All that worked was whatever it was I and the others like me were able to do.
There was also a sense of years passing. The war had been going on a long time. Heavy losses. Yet somehow we kept going. Kept fighting. We would fight until there was no one left.
I have no idea what the 40-40-40 reference meant. I don't often get numbers in my dreams so when I do, I pay attention. I know it means something important but I have no clue what.