you people are already dead
You people are already dead. You live in Tombs.
Something has changed. Pervasive images of shaking buildings, crumbling land, nuclear explosions and horrific human suffering, now litter the landscape of my dreams. Nearly every night I pass through incomprehensible circles of hell. Millions of people trapped under some form of Earth, are dying every moment without end. Their suffering rings endlessly in my ears.
This nocturnal horror show began in late August. Each night, the dreams consist of similar haunting imagery. Visions of torture and such unspeakable awfulness, things I would never be capable of consciously imagining.
Quite often with these images is a tall man who appears at first to be human. He speaks with a thick Slavic accent. However, he is not of this world and is by far, the most terrifying part of all these awful nighttime visions. As he speaks, he begins in broken English however; soon he transforms and is no longer human. He is utterly terrifying. As he transforms, his body underneath emerges and his speech becomes a form of a trance-like chanting. The frequency in which he speaks pierces though each cell of my being. I feel pain entirely. Through his chanting, he physically raises me off the ground. I am paralyzed. He then shows millions upon millions of people in the most desperate and horrendous circumstances ever possible. I am powerless…
My husband often wakes me from these dreams, stopping me from climbing up the headboard, screaming, choking… It remains difficult to silence these visions from my mind.
I usually find messages in my dreams; messages from those who have passed and messages of that which is yet to come. However, sometimes, dreams are just fanciful nocturnal delights that don’t find a way to meld with my waking world. Yet, I am unable to place these dreams; perhaps better said, I don’t want to place these dreams.
On September 17, I woke from a dream choking and tearing at my skin. I saw a red mud and water mix cresting across small rural areas. I could smell fumes from the red flow and knew it was laced with chemicals of some sort, my skin was burning. The Hungary sludge spill began a few weeks later.
With visions of nuclear blasts, massive earthquakes, horrific skin afflictions and community madness… I am frightened by the possibility that perhaps other pieces of these dreams could be seen in future times.
I asked him to stop. In one dream, I asked the chanting being to listen, to hear the suffering and screaming. His solemn grunting response was, “Soon, your spirit scream too Elizabeth…”
Elizabeth Ryba ©2010