September GA backdoor Jorospider
Dreaming of death as I awoke; not a topic in my usual rotation of past jobs and trying to go home. Of course I acknowledge going home is a metaphor for dying. In this dream, I arrived home, greeted my husband, and we looked out the window to see three large shiny metallic green-black vans pull up. Three smiling slim handsome men exited, and we knew they were essentially angels of death come as escorts for some of us, us being whoever was in the house, ie my mind. (The angels were actually “a bit of underdone potato,” as Scrooge would say, brain whimsies from repeat viewings of three charming actors in black suits dancing to “Rasputin” on my YouTube shorts feed for three days; love those guys! You can look them up, too.). I notice all the threes I’ve mentioned, but will ignore them because I also see my ego based fondness for descriptive language as I’m writing this.
The point of this “visitation” was that we/whoever each selected an escort and were told, “You are dying now. Do you prefer fast or slow? You get to choose.” One, C I guessed, said “fast,” but I asked, “What’s the difference?” “Slow means you have a few more moments to help. And I can help you through any fear or pain.”
I won’t tell you which I picked. But I will say that I am rather happier than usual to be awake this morning.
Thank you, Lord for another day and this healthy body. And “God bless us, everyone.”
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