This post is going to solidify my reputation as a writer of “weird stuff” but I don’t mind that. A few weeks ago I had a conversation with my confessor, he suggested that I write these dreams as I best remember. I am doing it now but let me warn you one more time: I am not an oracle, I do not know what your dreams mean, please do not post questions assuming that I have some connection with the realms beyond because I don’t.
Dreamers abound in Scripture. The patriarch Jacob dreams about a stairway to Heaven (not related to the now famous Led Zeppelin song of my youth) while traveling from Beersheeba to Haran. (Genesis 28:10-22) The prophet Daniel interprets the dreams of the Babylonian king. (Daniel 2:1-49) and Mordechai dreams of two dragons fighting (Esther, Introduction 12-11) while others like St. Joseph, and the Magi also have dreams that warned them of danger or prevent them from rushing into dangerous actions.
I don’t usually remember my dreams and when I do, they are extraordinarily boring. One detail, I can speak French perfectly in my dreams. In fact, I had a long conversation about wine with Jean Gabin in one dream some two decades ago! That surely would move my French-speaking friends to laughter because I slaughter that beautiful language when I attempt to speak it. But my French is admirable in my dreams!
But these dreams I am about to tell you are not silly dreams. They are very vivid, and come in intense colors. The most important part is that –unlike other dreams– I remember them in all detail. I will present them to you to the best of my recollection. Not necessarily in chronological order.
Dream#1 Walking towards Jesus (ca. winter 2001)
I am taken way up in the sky. From where I am, I can see planes flying below, fields, towns and cities in an extended landscape. I can see the curvature of the earth. Clouds are around me but I can walk on a sort of invisible platform just like one does on any normal surface. Suddenly I see someone approaching fast, a tall man. It is Jesus, dressed as Our Lord of Mercy in St. Faustina’s famous picture. I recognize him, he opens his arms and I run to his embrace. For a brief moment my right ear rests on his chest. He is a tall man! I am 5′ 8″ and I could hardy reach his shoulders. The dream ends there.
Dream#2 (begins ca. March 2002)
This one requires an introduction.
George Harrison, of Beatles fame, died in 2001 in Los Angeles, victim of a brain tumor. A few months later, I was going through my mail, reading some of the Catholic publications that were sent to my door when I stumbled on an article about some Italian visionary who claimed to have seen the soul of John Lennon screaming from Purgatory. She saw John in the midst of flames yelling “Three Masses, three Masses will get me out of here!” Few remember that Lennon was a baptized Catholic and had one uncle who was a missionary priest in New Zealand. I thought of my own troubled youth, when those songs brought me so much joy, moved me to learn to play music, etc. Next to me, on top a pile of mail, there was a card from the Fathers of Holy Hill, well known to Catholics in the United States. I decided to do a good deed and put a twenty dollar bill in that card, inscribing the baptismal names of John Winston Lennon, and George Harrison (who was also born a Catholic of Irish ancestry and with whom I may have some common ancestors through the French family) I sent that card that very day inscribing them in the Fathers of Holy Hill Perpetual Mass Association.
Many years after, in 2012, I was already living in Argentina when I had this strange dream, a very vivid and colorful dream. In it, I was descending the escalator at Heathrow Airport in London. I walked towards a line of taxi-cabs. As I approached one, the cabdriver took my luggage and I got in the car. We started driving towards London. We passed several familiar landmarks and got to Blackfriars Station but it was not the modern structure now in place. This was a different, older building. Next to it there was a typical London townhouse. We parked in front of that door. I opened the door to a long white marble stairs that led to the first floor. Atop of the stairs there was another door, also white. I knocked, and Lennon opened. He looked about the way he was in 1965. He was dressed in a white high neck long sleeve sweater, white jeans, and white shoes. He was not wearing any eyeglasses. As I walked in the room, I could see that everything was white: chairs, sofa, carpet, walls … all white. Tea was served on a low table, a white tea-set, of course. We talked for a while and had plenty of tea but I don’t remember one thing about that conversation. When I was about to leave, I saw George passing by a corridor. His hands were busy carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. Those were not white. He was wearing a green sweater and had a brown sleeveless jacket on him. He smiled and winked before disappearing down the corridor. It was my time to go, so I shook hands with John and went downstairs. The cabdriver was still there. I got in the taxi. The driver turned and said: “I will have you back home in a jiffy!” and with that I woke up from my dream.
I told the story first to an older Jesuit priest who thought the Masses had helped those two souls and they had manage to come back to thank me. In any case, that was perhaps the strangest dream ever. The cabdriver took my luggage! Ha!
Dream#3 The Wall of Protection (October 13, 2004)
In my dream I wake up in my own bed only to see that there are hundreds of people surrounding me and they are not happy at all. Some wave their fists, other make obscene gestures. Some are dressed like people of antiquity, others as people of the 1800’s, others are dressed as my contemporaries. Some are dressed in black suits and wear small aprons with signs. They are all massing against something invisible, like a glass wall that impedes them to reach me. I turn my sight to the right and I see a woman, floating about 4 ft. above the floor. She is dressed in a luminous cream-colored cape with a golden border. For some reason I can only see her exquisite left hand. She is making the “stop sign” like a policeman does when directing traffic to stop. The scene freezes for a few seconds and I start feeling very sleepy. I rest my head on the pillow and I start hearing a sweet voice –as I fall asleep– singing a lullaby, repeating in Portuguese “Ela leva a melodia” (‘she leads the melody’) but the melody is also one of my favorite Brazilian songs, Antonio Carlos Jobim’s, Aguas de Março (Waters of March). When I wake up the voice is still ringing in my ears.
That song may be significant. It is a sort of “stream of consciousness” composition made during one of those epic summer storms over the hills surrounding Rio de Janeiro. It basically describes a local flood carrying all kinds of things downhill while the composer observes and takes inventory of the objects being carried away. The theme of the song is quite simple: this is an awful storm but it shows that the the milder fall season is about to arrive. Fall in the Southern Hemisphere begins on March 21. The song follows a descending scale that is perfectly married to the lyrics.
“São as águas de março fechando o verão
É a promessa de vida no teu coração”
“Waters of March closing the summer
Promise of life in your heart.”
Sometimes I wonder if this is a prophetic dream about a month of March sometime in the future when serious local floods will affect the world, as predicted by St. Rose of Lima, Our Lady of Akita, and many other saints and visionaries.
Dream#4 The Mountain and the Lake (ca. fall 2006)
I am in my home in Charlottesville, Virginia when someone knocks at the door. I open the front door and there are two men dressed like the Christians of the first century. They bid me to go with them. I put on my leather jacket and follow them. Parked outside there is a Volvo four-door sedan, same model as the one made famous in the 1960’s by the British television series The Saint. But this one is a four-door sedan and I ask my visitors: “Why! I did not know they made these in four-doors” but my visitors do not respond, one of them opens the door for me and bid me to get in the car. We are soon moving along Rio Road and turn north at the intersection with Lee Highway. We drive up to the intersection with Route 33 and turn west towards Harrisonburg. We drive for a while until I start seeing thick elms and oaks, and I think “old growth, here?” At that point I notice snow-peaked mountains (there are no such mountains in Virginia) and I inquire as to where we are but there is no response. We turn left into a macadam road and drive for a while as the mountains in the distance get higher and the forest growth gets thicker. Suddenly the road ends on the entrance to a property. The gate is wide open. We drive into a clear next to a house built by the shore of a lake. The man in the passenger seat says: “We have arrived.” I step out of the car. As I close the car’s door, they turn around, leaving me alone. I climbed the stairs to the house. The door is half open. I walked in and feel that I am back home, to a place I had forgotten long ago. The French doors to the balcony are open and I step out. Looking at the lake I see it has that dark-green color typical of very deep lakes. I look to my right towards the lake’s far shore. I see massive white cliffs in the distance, like the Cliffs of Dover. Where the cliffs end, there’s the base of a massive mountain with its peak surrounded by clouds. I quickly calculate the height and I think “it is impossible” because it should be something like ten times the height of Mount Everest. At that point I hear a loud voice say: “The lake is as deep as the mountain is tall.” At that point my dream ends.
During the length of that dream, a sense of peace filled my heart. As I woke up, the sun was barely rising outside my window. I truly wanted to go back to that dream and hold on to that peace forever. Curiously enough, the next time I attended Mass I heard this reading: “Let us fall into the hands of the Lord, not into any human clutches; for as high His majesty is, so is the depth of His mercy.” (Ecclesiasticus 2:18)
Dream#5 Thirty seconds by the Cross (ca. April 2006)
I don’t know if this one qualifies as a dream. It was Friday and I was at Adoration in the church of St. Thomas Aquinas located at the Campus of the University of Virginia. Father Cameron, if I remember well, was about to put away the Holy Sacrament. As he proceeded to kneel before the monstrance we all started singing the Tantum Ergo.
I was kneeling more or less in the middle pew, to the left, as one faces the altar. I was not singing. At the time I did not know the words. As the singing began I fell ‘asleep’ and was taken to a very dark place where I was also kneeling on dirt. I could not see anything at all except for something I took for a telephone pole that was about 3 ft. in front of me. Other than that, darkness was absolute.
I ‘returned’ to the chapel, apparently a few seconds later only to fall asleep again. I was taken to the same place but there was just a bit more light. One could see the skyline, something like mountains or hills in the distance. The ‘telephone pole’ was easier to see but it was still dark. There was something whitish hanging parallel to the pole. I became aware of people around me.
I ‘returned’ to the chapel again. The singing continued and I quickly fell asleep for the third time. I was back to the same place. The first thing I noticed was the mountains in the distance enveloped in a blueish hue. In front of me I could see the leg of a man. It was that whitish thing I had seen before. I understood immediately where I was. The light was returning when I woke up again in the chapel as Fr. Cameron was finishing the Tantum Ergo.
I believe I was taken to the hour of darkness over Mount Calvary. Other than that, I never understood the reason for that vision or dream.
Dream#6 On St Anthony’s Feast, 2009
My mother was suffering from terminal cancer when I had this dream the morning of June 13. I was living in Virginia at the time. I was standing in front of my mother, who was sitting on a rocking chair. She was completely covered by a scarlet blanket. As I asked her to remove the blanket from over her face, she slowly began to lower the edge of that blanket. She looked very sick. At that very moment a door appeared suddenly to my left. Standing at the door, I could see Christ as Our Lord of Mercy. He was standing on the threshold. As he fixed his eyes on me, he had an inquisitive look. He seemed to be asking me: “What should I do?” or perhaps, “What are you going to do?” At that point I woke up. It was very early in the morning.
Later I called my brother in Buenos Aires to tell him about that dream. He was surprised when I mentioned the rocking chair. My mother was actually sleeping in a rocking chair because her infirmity did not allow her to be in a horizontal position for long. A few minutes later I was talking to my mother on the phone. She had been baptized Catholic at four years of age. Her communist father had to be convinced by the family to allow the baptism. Other than that, she had very little contact with the Catholic Church. That day she asked me to call a priest to her house. Fr. Alberto Caruso, the local priest, was summoned to her side, taught her how to make her confession, gave her absolution and the anointing of the sick. In that state she went into a coma that night, quietly passing away a few days later.
Dream#7 Salvation of a Soul (ca. September 2019)
I cannot reveal the complete circumstances around these two dreams for two reasons. One, I would have to write a long story, a book. Two, the person involved in these dreams is a public person who is well known. I will give her an imaginary name that has nothing to do with her actual name, just for the purpose of describing this very unusual set of dreams.
First dream. I see Marie-Claude, a lady I know, as I enter a typical Irish pub. Behind her there’s a couple. I believe they are her parents, both faithful Catholics departed years ago. On the wall there are two pictures depicting Our Blessed Mother and Saint Joseph. I do believe the portraits indicate that the unknown couple are virtuous, possibly in Heaven by now. Only a guess.
I approach the table where Marie-Claude and her friend Solange (also an imaginary name) are sitting side by side. The older couple in the back look at me very seriously, they are in a somber mood. As I continue advancing towards the table, I see Marie-Claude sensually caress Solange. The dream ends there.
I do not know if that was past, present or future. Our Blessed Mother, Saint Joseph, and Saint Matthias were present near that person. One instruction came with the scene I contemplated: “You must help save that person with prayer and reparation. You do not have much time left.”
I believe the saintly parents of Marie-Claude came to me to reveal that her beloved daughter has a secret life. They are working to save her soul from eternal ruin and time is of the essence. I have been praying for Marie-Claude’s salvation ever since. I invite my readers to do the same. God will know who she is when you pray for her.
Second dream. The first Sunday of Advent I dreamed of Marie-Claude again. She is sitting by herself in an empty church. As I approach her, I see her face and body begin to shine with a blinding white light. I extend my right hand to her, she extends her left hand. The dream ends there.
Days after this dream I attended Mass at a church dedicated to the Little Flower. It is a small church, quite modest but beautiful, truly reflecting the spirit of St. Therese of Lisieux. As I was leaving church after Adoration, I recognized the spot where I saw Marie-Claude ‘transfigured’ in my dream. This may indicate that the Little Flower has a special interest in interceding for the salvation of Marie-Claude’s soul.
I took this as divine assurance that —if we continue praying for Marie-Claude— God will move her heart to the point that she may become a saint. Her saintly parents have trusted her to our prayers so that she can defeat the spirit of this depraved age, repent, and live her life completely for God as a wife and mother, giving and nurturing life.
“Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently. But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted.” (Galatians 6:1)
Dream#8 Two Moons Over Virginia (October 13, 2016)
“In this dream I was standing on a patch of grass, next to what I believed to be an old stone house that reminded me of the type of construction one can find in England or Ireland. On my left I could see a corner of the house, with one ogival door and windows. It was dark but there was light inside the house. There was no other source of light. There were no stars visible in the dark sky, only a very white moon that looked almost painted in the northeast quadrant to my left. I sensed that I was standing on an soft incline, looking east I could see nothing but the vague silhouette of a city skyline but it was too dark to distinguish much more. While I was looking up, something quite out of the ordinary happened: a second moon rapidly emerged from the horizon in front of me. It had three tiny satellites that circled it. They were like small dots of various colors. I can remember they were green, red, and blue. Rising rapidly towards the northeast in almost a 45 degree angle, that new moon was soon passing in front of our moon. At that time a number of people joined me in the garden. I remember pointing at the sky to show them the strange phenomena. Those were well dressed people, they looked like nobility, or people that were very wealthy. Their demeanor was calm but a bit sad, like if they were concerned about something. They invited me to go into a room in that building where a number of elderly men were watching a sort of vintage football game on television: Boston Patriots and New Jersey Generals. That was the end of my dream […] Thursday very early in the morning.”
“That week I had exchanged a few emails with Mark (not his real name) a friend from Staunton, Virginia. We had talked on the phone a few days earlier and he wanted me to go back to Virginia and settle there in Staunton — a lovely town, by the way — After pouring myself a cup of tea I sat at my computer and placed a Google search to take a look. I remembered the local Catholic parish, St. Francis. I decided to visit their site. I learned that the church building had to undergo serious renovations due to some structural problems. There were plenty of photographs of the building and I started flipping through them when something caught my attention: right there I recognized the patch of grass, the wall, the door, etc. that I had seen in my dream. I was astonished. Then I recalled the dream and wondered why everything was so dark when I was obviously in the middle of a thickly settled area. Dreams are never logical. I called Mark immediately and told him what had happened. Quite astonished himself, he responded that he had the same dream the previous week also — in fact he referred to me some details of my dream, details that I had not shared with him in my rush to tell him about how I had found the spot by the church. Mark experienced exactly the same vision of the two moons but in his dream he was standing on the back porch of his house. We were both silent for a few seconds. We could not imagine how something like that could have happened …” (Excerpt from a previous post, A Tale of Two Moons)
Dream#9 ICBM Attack on the United States? (ca. May 2017)
In this dream, I am walking up a wide street of what it looks like a Midwestern U.S. small town. A woman wearing a white summer dress walks next to me. We are having a conversation but I can’t see her face nor who she is. We are going to a house where some kind of gathering is taking place. We arrive and the house is bursting with people having drinks. We get some lemonade and sit outside on the grass. The sky is slightly cloudy. While we talk, I look up to the sky and I see a star that is moving upwards, then it seems to stop and remain on the same spot for a few seconds. That catches my attention. I see another star that does the same and then another and another. I am terrified when I realize it is an ICBM attack. We ran to the house, people are all gathered around a television set. On the screen I see the familiar desk at the Oval Office. Behind the desk is Hillary Clinton. She is addressing the nation when two Marines grab her and run away with her. The camera follows them as they run along with all the White House staff through various corridors and tunnels. They emerge somewhere in Georgetown where they enter what appears to be a supermarket and then disappear into a tunnel.
Back at the house, we walk outside again and look eastward. A city is burning in the distance. There is an orange-red glow on the horizon. Then someone cries “New York City is no more.” My dream ends there.