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  • Writer's pictureTodd Stevens


For months I debated whether or not to write the story you’re about to read. I’m not making a declaration that this is anything other than a dream. A vivid, extremely intense, and vivid dream. I’m a believer, but never, not once have I pushed my faith on anyone else, nor have I ever judged anyone else for not sharing what I believe to be right or wrong. If I’m asked, I’ll answer, but I don’t believe I have the right to judge anyone else for believing differently than I do. The following story still makes me emotional to the point of tears 4 years later. So this is the dream I had. I was standing at the base of a steep mountain and looking up a black dirt road, I could see that melting snow had eroded ruts in the wheel tracks exposing white stones. It was a sunny late spring day and a cool breeze blew into my face as I made my way up the road. I could see velvet green grass growing up through tall, yellow straw dead grass left over from the previous summer. There were still patches of un-melted white snow in the shadows of boulders and trees that dotted the mountainside. I followed the road as it turned to the north and crested a deep green pasture that had big white stones scattered all through it. Along the back edge of the pasture, set against a stand of dark fir trees was an old house. It was huge, verging on mansion size. The roof had big clumps of dark olive moss hiding most of the brick toned shingles, and the paint which had once been white was just small flecks stuck here and there to the washed out clapboard siding. I walked up onto the porch and could feel the sponginess of the deteriorating boards under my feet. I walked past the flaking columns and into what was once the living room. A familiar voice came from my right, and my sister Shannon walked out from a room. She asked me what had taken so long to come into the house, and I realized that she’d been on the hike with me. We decided to go up a big sweeping staircase that rose to a series of rooms above. The house was in remarkably good condition on the interior. The floors were dusty, but a dull shine peeked through. The handrails of the stairs were some sort of rich polished black wood and they were as smooth as marble to the touch as we ascended to the upper rooms.

Once we were upstairs, we walked back to the west towards a massive panoramic window that faced the mountains. Shannon turned to me and said, “It’s getting dark outside.” I looked, and what had been a beautiful sunny afternoon just moments before, was suddenly dark and turbulent. Slashing and swirling winds turned the trees like straws, and all manner of debris filled the air in a chaotic churning whirlwind. Suddenly the floor in front of us was gone and we were both falling forward. My feet were on solid flooring and my hands caught the sill of the window making a sort of human bridge over this dark twisting chasm below me. I looked over at Shannon, and she was in the same predicament, both of us caught in this seemingly life and death moment. The howling storm and debris smashing into us was disorienting and terrifying, and I knew my grip wouldn’t last much longer. Then, cutting through all of that terrible blackness and fear I heard a voice, clear like a bell. “Let go.” There was something about that voice that held power and clarity. I looked over and Shannon had heard it too. There was a sort of unspoken agreement that we would let go together, because I could tell that she’d heard the voice and understood it’s power as I had. And then I was falling. The resistance I’d been using to fight the storm by holding on was suddenly gone, and I flowed with the storm. I realized somewhere during the fall that I was meant to be a part of what I’d feared, that I was supposed to be part of the storm…and that maybe it was never a storm to begin with, maybe it was just my perception, and then I wasn’t conscious. When I woke up, it was very early morning and I was laying on a beautiful grassy hillside facing the west. As far as I could see there were gentle rolling hills of this almost effervescent greenish gold grass. The colors were such a perfect combination that I can’t describe them here in words. I had an overwhelming sense of peace, and love. Every insecurity and fear, every worry and pain, whether physical or mental were gone.

It was light, but I couldn’t identify the source. I looked over to my left and my sister was sitting there in the same wonder that I was. I stood up and looked through the golden air to the west and I could see people crossing this great expanse, all of them heading to the east. They walked in twos, and threes, and small loose bunches, and I could tell they were in awe too. They didn’t speak, and they didn’t have to, because we were all indescribably connected. There was a kind of unspoken…knowing, for lack of a better description. A knowing of something amazing, incredible. I turned to my sister and we were both standing by this point. We looked at each other for a long time and finally I asked her…”Is…this heaven?” She looked back at me and said, “I think so…” We turned and started walking with the others back toward the east. There was a brilliant white light source we were drawn too, but it did not hurt our eyes. We kept walking into that incredible light until it kind of absorbed us….and I woke up. ReplyForward

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