When my dreams want me to remember something important, it is repeated multiple times, throughout the dream, and even written down for me to look at, in terms of letters and words. At one point in my life, it was constantly being written in Chinese characters, which I could read and understand, but only in my dreams. Upon awakening, the memory of Chinese words comprehension would escape me and I would be unable to recall the words.
So one day I sat down and did some talking to myself. I said, “Hey you, if you are going to make me read words, at least make it English, so I can still remember what it is I’m suppose to be remembering.” Well, that seemed to have worked, because ever since then, it’s mostly been English.
That’s just a little epilogue to this dream I just experienced. It is a noteworthy one because it it SO CLEAR. In it, I meet a woman with two young boys. She tells me her children are perfectly normal, except the younger boy has such a wild and fertile imagination that he insists his name is LM Churchill, and that he is a train conductor. Instantly, my mind gets this image of an older gentleman in a train conductor outfit. (of course, this is a picture I took off the internet, so it is not this specific man, but you get the idea).
So, I get to talking with the little boy, who because he was barely five or six, was running around saying things like, “Ma’am, if you get off at the Jersey Junction and take the next train out to the Bronx Terminal, you’ll save yourself an extra day of waiting. There’ll be no more trains till then.” I was thinking to myself, OK, either this kid watches a lot of train movies, or he really is a conductor in his past life. His father begins to berate him for being silly, and telling him that he was not this LM Churchill person that he is constantly telling everyone he is.
The boy gets upset. He runs to a corner, curls up in a ball and begins to cry. I felt so badly for him, so I made my way to him and gathered him up into my arms. Instantly, I could see the words LM Churchill flashing at me in front of my eyes. He also said it several times, insistently, wanting me to remember it. So I committed that name to memory and I whisper over his ash blonde hair, “It’s ok. I believe you. Yes, you were, indeed, LM Churchill, the last time you were here.” He looks up at me. His eyes are a startling light blue. They dried up immediately, and he snuggles up next to me and then falls asleep.
I wake up. I go to the computer and type in LM Churchill. I got some pictures of old clocks. I also got a tombstone.
I don’t know if this is the right one. I don’t care, really. When dreams are this clear in my mind, it is wise to always pay close attention. Something important may be trying to get through.