Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Dream Log Entry 2013-02-13-1220

At 1220 hours on Wednesday, 13 February 2013, I awoke from a nap. During my nap, I had a vivid dream. In the dream, I was walking with my wife and son, or a girl and a boy whom I assume were my wife and son, but I cannot recall for sure. They were family to me, whatever the case.

We walked toward a dirt driveway that entered a field, or a grass sparking lot or fairground, or some such place. We had been walking a short distance along a paved street, and as we came to the entrance of the field or open land, I paused and looked up.

Some unusual, elongated, cloud-like formation had been catching my attention intermittently for several minutes as we had been walking, but I had not said anything about it. When it started to change before my eyes, I could not ignore it.

High in the darkening, cloudless sky was what had initially appeared to be a long, thin, braided, glowing contrail. It glowed orange, but it was not illuminated by the setting sun.

It soon became apparent that this formation was not one contrail or long cloud, but hundreds of threads of light, like shining, silken stands twisting and weaving across the sky, intertwined with each other but clearly distinct from one another. At the head of each individual thread of light was a single, bright orange dot that flew in a spiraling trajectory.

I surmised that the threads of light must be some type of exhaust produced by each strange object's propulsion system. Each thread of light remained thin and crisply discernible. They did not fade or disperse like you would expect from a rocket plume or a jet contrail.

Soon, the entire formation began to widen in a purposeful manner. As the formation widened, each strand of light and its source became more individually discernible, like individual strands of an unraveling, thick, luminescent rope.

Suddenly, we saw what looked like a grayish colored liquid or gel falling from the sky. I intuited that it could only have come from one of the glowing pinpoints of light high above, as there was nothing else visible in the sky. No clouds, no other aircraft, nothing.

The sky was dim, so it was not readily apparent that any discharge had been deployed by the objects as they flew at extremely high altitude. I could discern no audible sound from them, or from the falling discharge.

The falling, ashen, gel-like substance hit me, and only me. That was unusual, because when it hit me, I felt it splash off of my clothing and skin, as would water. It felt wet and cool to the touch upon impact. However, when I looked at my left arm and hand, where the bulk of it hit, there was nothing discernible remaining. No trace. Not even a hint of a wet stain on my skin or clothing.

None of the excess hit the street. I had been struck by only a small portion of its total volume, and as soon as that portion had contacted my person, all of it, including the excess that had not hit me, evaporated or disappeared instantly and entirely, as if there had never been anything there at all.

I was standing only two or three feet from my wife, and maybe five feet from my son, and neither of them felt a single drop of it, not even a drop of whatever portion of it had splashed off of me. They had seen it fall and had witnessed it hit me, but had not been hit by any portion of it themselves.

It was like I had been targeted specifically. I puzzled at the fact that the substance evaporated immediately upon impact, but had somehow remained constituted during its long and inexplicably accurate free-fall from an altitude that must have been in the upper regions of the stratosphere.

After standing there for a while, we walked up the slight rise, into the field where our vehicle was parked. As we walked slowly to our pickup truck, we began talking about what the gel-like substance might be. I mentioned that I had no idea what it was, but that if I had to guess, I would suppose it was some sort of marker, and that I thought I had just been marked.

My first impression was that this was some high-tech system of selecting and painting a target for later identification without having to train a laser or other type of electromagnetic, line-of-sight energy constantly on target until some impending action is taken against the target, as is the case with present-day target illumination systems. I felt that this system would leave me marked and identifiable indefinitely, while leaving no indication to anyone other than those who had marked me that I had been marked.

I also wondered if the gel that hit me was some type of intelligent, delayed action toxin that could be activated remotely or autonomously at any future moment or upon any given set of circumstances. That seems less likely, but entirely possible. These are my only two ideas on the matter so far.

After standing at the back of my pickup truck for a few more minutes, discussing what had happened, my dream shifted. It was daytime, either the next day or some time later. I was walking or driving along a residential street in a hilly part of a town I cannot identify. I saw Victorian style houses and deciduous trees and a white, church-like building that looked like a house being used as a chapel.

I heard spoken words saying something to the effect of, "There will be a passage of law," or, "There will be a passage of the word."

Something of crucial importance to the people and to America was dependent upon the passage of whatever law or word was being referenced, but I cannot recall what it was. I cannot remember the rest of the words I heard. I do not know if I was hearing the words from a radio broadcast or from some other source. That part was lost almost as soon as I awoke.

I sat down mere minutes after I awoke and wrote this account, supposing that I might lose it entirely if I did not make a record of it. This is as much as I can remember at this time.

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