What I saw. Dream or memory. You decide. I was there. I'm going with Joel 2:28-32.

Tweet

Around 5:20 AM on Sunday, February 10, 2013, I awoke from a dream that seemed so real I could still feel the impact of it throughout the rest of the day. In fact, it is still so vivid, I can write about it as though it were an actual experience rather than a dream.

In the dream, I was standing outside on someone's lawn during the late afternoon, surrounded by many people whom I did not know. They were local residents gathering at someone's house for a neighborhood event or community activity, the purpose of which was not clear to me in the dream. The weather was pleasant. The afternoon was graced with a gentle breeze, moderately warm temperature, a blue sky and a distant stratus layer.

It felt like the neighborhood was located in a moderate sized town or small city, somewhere in the southwest, perhaps Arizona, or perhaps the northwest, maybe central Washington State. It looked familiar to me, but I could not identify the municipality.

I heard the sound of an aircraft powered by a radial engine. As I am an aviation enthusiast, I turned to see what kind of aircraft it was. It was something I had never imagined.

It was an olive-drab colored Chevy Suburban-like SUV, highly modified, with a radial airplane engine and propeller up front, and a long, pontoon-like hull underneath. The tires were mounted on the hull.

On top of the vehicle was a strange looking, high bypass turbofan engine that appeared to be mounted backwards. It looked more like a ducted fan coupled to the rear of a large electric motor.

I could not discern how the vehicle stayed airborne. It had no wings, and it appeared to be capable of flying slowly and landing anywhere. Then, I saw at least two other similar vehicles flying nearby. One had a rotor on top, like a helicopter, but was otherwise identical to the first vehicle.

The first such vehicle I saw was flying eastward, it seemed. It flew low and slow over the main thoroughfare that went under an overpass where a freeway ran by the edge of town.

From the yard where I was standing, a major intersection with a traffic light suspended in the center was clearly visible, about a quarter mile west of the overpass. Cars were rushing by as normal. Nobody seemed to think anything unusual was going on. A second flying SUV went by, on a somewhat northerly heading.

A third flying SUV came extremely low and close. It circled around to the back of the house and then landed in the yard at the northeast corner of the house.

I was standing in the front yard, which was on the north of the house. I was eating nuts from a plastic party bowl. The pilot was clearly visible through the cockpit window, which was a long, slanted, almost cylindrical windshield that transitioned with aerodynamic smoothness from the vehicle roof to the cowling of the radial engine.

I made eye contact with the pilot. We just stared at each other in uneasy silence for several seconds, maybe a whole minute. He did not seem happy about the fact that I was looking directly at him.

No one else seemed to notice the strange contraption that had landed in the yard. No one was looking to see who was in the vehicle, or if anyone was getting out of the vehicle. The fact that I was looking, and was the only one looking, made the pilot visibly agitated.

The pilot turned his head to talk to someone inside the vehicle and then looked back at me firmly, several times. Moments later, the passenger door opened and a few troops in digital gray camouflage military uniforms exited the vehicle and fanned out, into the mingling neighborhood crowd. One of them, a medium-built, Caucasian-oriental looking girl with too much makeup, black, bushy hair, and dark, mean eyes, marched straight up to me and demanded, "What's your name?"

I could see part of her name sewn onto her uniform, but it was partially hidden by her lapel. I think it had a "Z" and an "EE" in it, but I can't recall seeing more than that. I did not notice any insignia, but I did notice a conspicuous absence of the American Flag on her uniform. I surmised that these were United Nations troops. On American soil for other than exercise purposes. The girl spoke perfect English with no particular accent.

I said, "Ilyan Lavanway."

She then asked, "Are you an American citizen?" Her tone of voice and demeanor suggested that my being an American citizen was not a good thing, and that it posed a potential threat to her and to her mission. I further sensed that admitting to being a U.S. citizen would put myself and my family in danger.

I responded, "Yes."

Then, she asked about my name and the origins of it. She named a specific country or nationality, but I cannot recall which one. I got the impression it was my first name she was fixated on, and not so much my last name.

I simply responded, "I'm French."

My last name is of French origin, and my paternal ancestry is French, though I was born and raised in America, as was my father, my grandfather, and my great grandfather, and then some, all the way back to my great-great-great-grandfather.

I figured, why should she get to ask all the questions. So, I asked her, "Where are you from?"

She abruptly turned her back on me without another word, walked a few paces into the crowd, and loudly announced, "As of tomorrow morning, America is under martial law."

Nobody seemed surprised. Worse, nobody seemed to care.

I turned to my wife and said, "There it is."

I was not surprised by the announcement, but I was deeply unsettled by it. Even the appearance of American liberty and sovereignty had just been ripped away.

I started to address the group of people who were milling around. I cannot recall exactly what I was saying, but I knew I had to say something, and do something, even though I was not sure exactly what.

I noticed as I was speaking, another fellow patriot had already climbed up on top of a car and was addressing the crowd more audibly and clearly, so I said to those few who were near me, "Listen to him."

I do not recall what he said. I knew the confusion of having two people trying to shout to the crowd would accomplish nothing, and he was already on a good roll.

By this time it was getting dark. It was still warm enough to stay outside without a jacket.

I remember mulling over the fact that the strange, flying SUVs were types of vehicles I had never seen before. To me, they were obvious indications that there are many weapon systems already fully developed and easily deployable that We the People know nothing about.

Sometime during all this, my son had walked over to where my wife and I were standing. He was happily eating chips, undisturbed by the events underway. My son is eight years old and has Down's syndrome.

In the dream, my son looked like he was in his early to mid teens.

I felt the keenly vexing awareness that Barack Hussein Obama had been a key player in bringing about this heinous dismantling of American liberty. That is nothing new.

The thing that struck me upon waking was that in my dream, Obama was still in power. My son was in his teens. That means Obama was in his third term.

Some dreams are symbolic and take time and experience and prayer and pondering to understand, if one can remember them at all.

I take this dream at face value. I believe it is a literal glimpse of our near future, and I was there. To me, this dream is a memory of something that has yet to occur. Since it has not yet occurred, it does not have to occur. Are we going to stop it? If so, how? Words have no effect on Liberals, except to aggravate them into a frenzy.

Sharing this probably makes me look foolish, but being a patriot in a sea of Liberals makes me look foolish, and I am not the least bit ashamed of it. I share this because I am positively convinced that I am not the only one out there having dreams about near term and long term events of the last days. I want to impart courage to others who may be afraid to share.

Joel 2:28-32

Isaiah 3
Try a little exercise called "likening the scriptures unto ourselves." See how the verses you once thought were hard to understand become as clear as day, and things begin to make sense. In this particular chapter, substitute America and Americans where it says Jerusalem and Judah. Notice anything?