Dreams about Dreams about Dreams

I haven't written a dream in awhile. The dreams haven't been as vivid or as interesting these last few months. Nothing to speak of, I suppose... shapes and colors in vacuum voids.

A few days before the September 11 attacks, I dreamt of planes flying into buildings. Granted, in my dream, the buildings weren't as tall and were made of brick and the planes were old style bi-planes. But it was planes flying into buildings. And on the early morning Tuesday 9/11, when I saw what was happening, hairs stood up on the back of my neck.

"Yeah, right," you say, "That's a load of crap. You didn't dream about it before it happened."

Well, I did... kind of. But who do you tell about something like that? And how was I supposed to know it was going to come true? I thought it was just a weird dream.

I have had dreams that came true, before, but they were far more literal; a moment walking the sidewalk and kicking a piece of ice; a conversational exchange between myself and a co-worker; dropping a fork at a formal dinner. Stupid, mundane stuff.

Someone once asked me if they were all just Deja Vu.

Deja Vu can be scientifically explained by the delay between the eyes and the brain in processing stimuli. No... this was not that. I have a dream, part of it happens in real life, and then I recall, roughly, when I had the dream and what the rest of it was about.

I choose to think of these as metaphysical or spiritual signposts, reminding me that I'm on the right path in life. I believe that they are clues to a great mystery. I am certain that they are more than a brain delay.

But, I was also certain that I wouldn't ever wake to see real planes flying into real buildings.