I had two dreams that were extremely significant in preparing me to join the Unification Movement.
Back story for the first dream- 1974
I was about 19 years old. I had transferred from a liberal arts college in Missouri to the Chicago Art Institute at the urging of my college roommate. Soon after, I got a job as a hostess in an Italian restaurant. One of the delivery boys, AL, was from Cuba and I was helping him with his English. It was not long before we became a couple.
One afternoon, AL and I were sitting at a back table in the restaurant eating lunch and making small talk with the owner and a few other adult employees. It was a rare occasion and we felt privileged to have been invited. During the conversation a disparaging remark was made about black people. I felt very uncomfortable but did not say anything at the time. Instead I avoided any further personal conversations with those in agreement with the comment. I also struggled with the idea that I could or should have said something. That night I had a dream in three parts.
In my dream I was at the large home of the restaurant owner; a sort of get-together with employees was going on for camaraderie’s sake. Someone knocked on the back door and I answered it since I was close by. Two young black people (perhaps college age) asked permission to search the back yard for something related to a class project. All the adults in the party had left the house and gone somewhere. I didn’t see any harm in what they asked so I gave them permission.
A short while later the owner and other adults returned. They learned that there was a black couple in their backyard and proceeded to arm themselves with weapons. I urgently informed them that I had given the couple permission to be there, that it was completely harmless what they were doing, and that I was responsible for this transgression, not them. I pleaded with them to allow the young people to leave unharmed. I begged them to listen to reason, to look at the situation objectively. Their faces were hardened to me; it was as though I was nonexistent- invisible.
I was frantically imploring anyone who would listen to stop this insanity- human life was precious. All human life. My words, my screaming, my hysteria crescendoed, but made no impact. I ran to the back door to warn the young people that they were in danger. The young man’s eyes became cold and flat, lacking any further ability to relate to me as a fellow human being; he and his companion quickly left to escape or hide. I then ran through the house and upstairs, screaming and crying loudly.
The adults here had called others by phone to help with their evil intentions. I considered running out into the back yard to stand between the couple and the armed adults; possibly shocking them into realizing their irrationality. But I surmised that they would merely shoot me down as well; I was Jewish and also considered by many as ‘unwanted vermin’. I ran upstairs to what was suddenly my childhood bedroom. There was a window which overlooked the backyard with a hill rising behind our house. A neighborhood posse arrived with rifles and gathered along the hill, similar to a scene in a cowboy movie. How incredibly excessive! How utterly deranged! I was screaming and sobbing desperately- wanting, longing from a deep, deep place within me to exact some impact on this scene by the sheer magnitude of my emotions and will. To no avail.
A volley of guns exploded. Then silence. It was enough ammunition to kill an army.
How utterly drained I felt. Hopeless. Insignificant. I had never tried harder in all of my life to stop something, yet none of my words or deeds- or tears- had made the slightest impact. I had never cried harder or more desperately; I was completely inadequate, useless.
This is where my dream, part 1, ended.
I may have woken up, distraught -even shocked-by the intense emotion, but then returned to sleep...
Part 2 was quite short- and related.
AL and I were in a neighborhood meeting, discussing with a handful of other people how to address the tensions that existed. We were both concerned and wondering how we could help. Then I found myself at the edge of a high hill overlooking a town below. There was a black man in a business suit with a suitcase a short distance to my right. He was planning on going down into that town. I approached him; I was worried for his safety and expressed my concern. He did not seem troubled, but rather determined- resolute and he started down the hill.
I am walking down a mountain with dense vegetation. Someone is to my left- a guide, perhaps a spirit guide, talking to me. At the bottom of the mountain foamy waves are lapping the sandy shore; we seem to be on an island. The spirit guide is explaining a scene that is happening that moment at the water’s edge. An islander is carving a large stone sculpture, using a chisel and hammer. He is surrounded by a group of excited local residents, appearing somewhat primitive. They are all watching the activity attentively, expectantly. The guide explains that the artist is possessed; his art is always prophetic. Suddenly the people gasp, then run off. The artist is still in a kind of trance and continues hammering away, then drops his tools, and he too dashes off. I’m standing now, with my back to the ocean, in front of the sculpture; it is probably 7-8’ tall. My guide says, “This is the god of the sea.” As I look at the figure’s face, its eyes fill up with water. Then I look down at my feet. Where the waves had been gently lapping the shore, it is now dry. I turn around and for miles out the ocean floor is without water, shells scattered here and there. In the far distance a monumental wave is fast approaching.
All of the islanders are trying to escape, scrambling up the mountain, their sparse belongings tied to their backs. My guide explains that he has unfinished business- someone he needs to help, but he wishes me well on my journey. We separate. I am on the back of an elephant; we make our way up to a high peak where I can look out to observe our imminent doom. It seems ludicrous to try and escape; the island is so small- the wave so massive, yet I am completely calm. The elephant triumphantly rears like a majestic horse. Though I am surrounded by panicking crowds, my heart is serenely peaceful.
My dream ends.
Upon waking, I was amazed how the two dreams could be such polar opposites in emotional composition...and grateful for the tranquility that replaced the trauma.
Years later a Native American woman who interprets dreams said that water represents emotions. The elephant rearing was an excellent sign; ultimately I would bring victory over my emotions.
January 25, 1975. Saturday, early evening; I must have dozed off.
I was sitting on a couch with AL. A man called on the phone; he was looking for someone. AL was a taxi driver at the time; I thought he might be able to help the man since he knew the area so well. I handed him the phone. Then while AL was looking on a map, I held the receiver to my ear and listened in on the conversation at the other end. The man was talking to his secretary, asking about applicants for a position. This piqued my interest as I was looking for a job. The secretary answered the man: people had applied but no one was fully qualified. The man was disappointed and concerned. He said that even though they were not qualified, it may be necessary to hire them in order to avert something terrible from happening. It felt so ominous, something connected to a disaster. I was no longer interested in having anything to do with it; I handed the phone back to AL. He told the man,“ I’m sorry; I can't help you”. The man said something, then hung up. I turned and asked AL, “What did the man say?” At that exact moment a bomb went off in the living room- not exactly. There was no visible evidence- only auditory- the sound of a tremendous bomb exploding three times. If I could have seen the effects of the bomb (or bombs), solid buildings would have been blown to pieces; dust, shrapnel, and broken bodies scattered everywhere, but there was only the sound and no other indication of an explosion. Did I imagine it? I turned again to my friend to see if he had heard it too, but before I could say anything he pointed to a small glass bottle hanging directly in front of my face. It was attached to a spider web- thin thread and filled with green liquid. I knew intuitively that this had something to do with the explosion. I grabbed it and imagined throwing it with all my might out of the basement apartment window, out onto the street where it might explode there. But before I did anything, the man’s voice, the last thing he said before he hung up, became clearly audible: “My brother is going to be hurt. My brother is going to be hurt.”
I woke up.
A cold sweat swept my entire body from my head to my toes for the first time in my life. I knew without any doubt that this was a prophetic dream.
I only have one brother, my twin brother. Was this a warning about him?
My mother is also a fraternal twin and she grew up having many paranormal experiences with her brother; she often could not differentiate between his pain and her own. She knew when he was troubled, had a car accident, or argued with his wife. He, on the other hand, had dreams of future murders. Two weeks after having a very detailed nightmare, the real incident would be reported in the newspaper. Had he shared his dreams publically, authorities may have locked him up in a mental institution or possibly considered an accomplice.
My mother subtly observed me growing up to see if I had a similar disposition, but I did not show any inclination. (Instead I had extreme sensitivity to other people’s pain but I never told anyone; I thought everyone felt the same way.)
Was this dream then my first spiritual connection to my brother? I wondered. After calling my oldest sister, I learned that he was currently on a nuclear submarine, serving as a Machinist’s Mate. My sister was also in the Navy and she said it would be impossible to reach him out in the ocean. Was my dream about an explosion in the boiler room? I was not familiar with prayer at that time; instead I was filled with anxiety and paced the room for hours wondering what to do.
Finally, knowing that this ‘message was too significant to ignore. I visited the Unification Church the next day and asked the pastor/center leader if he could interpret it for me. First, he said that we had to assess who was the caller? God or Satan? I emphatically insisted it wasn’t Satan. Then he said that God had a serious problem; He needed people to help with this problem and He was searching for them. The leader reassured me, saying he did not think the dream was about my physical brother, but rather humanity- since all people are brothers and sisters. This made complete sense and definitely alleviated my fears for my twin. His explanation calmed me down, but left me with more questions about the deeper meaning of the dream. I thanked him and returned home.
That weekend, AL and I had been invited to a workshop but because he had reserved a taxi for the weekend, we both agreed we would come the next weekend. We both attended evening lectures at the center that week and then participated in the weekend workshop. The closing lecture explained the providential significance of the present day: the Messiah was on earth to build God’s Kingdom; Satan was working through God-denying communism to destroy it and establish his own kingdom. So this is what my dream was all about.
At the conclusion, both AL and I joined the Unification Movement.
Fifty years later we are still fighting ‘the good fight’.