Lucid Dream of July 8, 2015
I enter a small unfurnished room in a great Mansion. I can’t remember now everything I had been doing out in the city, and in other rooms within the building, but at once, I feel everything was leading me here. A young man, wrapped in a white sheet, is lying on his back on some kind of a slab not much wider than his body. I cannot recall whether or not his lips are actually moving, but I clearly hear the words he is saying over and over again, “I did this. I did this. I did this…” Even though His expression only hints at the fact, I know He is in great pain, that He is suffering unimaginable anguish. I sit down beside him, also aware that his words are not filled with self recrimination or despair, on the contrary—He chose to endure this suffering, and even now He is Master of the agony. He is not waiting or longing for death, He has instead, by permitting Himself to be crucified, defeated death for all of us, for I have known, almost from the moment I entered the room, who He is.
Mere seconds have passed from my opening the door, to my coming to sit beside him, and now I gently turn His face toward me slightly as, bending over him, I gently kiss His right cheek once, and then again. I know this is all I can do to comfort Him, and that somehow it is enough, at least for now, even though I wish, with all my heart and soul, that I had the power to ease His torment. His skin is smooth, pale yet gently flushed, like an early morning sky just before the sun rises. His hair is straight where it frames His face, and seems long, for its smooth dark length, brightened by a reddish gold, disappears into the white sheet wrapped around his body. I am looking down at Jesus Christ, whose face is that of a handsome man. And yet subtly, but intensely, His face is more beautiful than any mortal man’s could ever be. He in no way resembles any of the actors I have seen portray Him in films or television. Gazing at Him, I think about how I could never have imagined His face, remembering how I scarcely dared to even hope I might see Him one night in a dream. And yet here I am, tenderly kissing the cheek of a man just like any other man, and yet unlike any other man in His “luminous” perfection, which cannot be measured feature by feature by the eyes of my dreaming soul, only felt and experienced.
I am both amazed, and not at all surprised, that I am looking upon the face of Christ. His cheek felt smooth and tender as a child’s against my lips, and yet His face is that of a man in the prime of life, what a man can look like. I understand that “part” of Him is still crucified, is still suffering, and will continue to do so until His redemption of humanity is complete. I know He has already risen, conquered all pain and death itself, but that in my soul—as in every God fearing and loving soul that has not yet reached perfection—He is still lying as if in a tomb, fresh from the agony of the cross, not yet ascended to the Father. Comforting Him now in my dream, being with Him, accompanying Him in his pain, I know it is my own soul, which lives forever in Him, I am at last rescuing and taking responsibility for. Never again will I leave the side of my Lord, I will stay with Him, and lovingly, comfortingly kiss His cheek, until all His suffering on my account has ended, is finally finished.
Preliminary Dream Notes:
I heard Him repeating the words, “I did this” and in the dream I understood what he was saying to mean: “Nothing was done to Me that God did not will.”
The few times I dared imagine seeing Christ in a lucid dream, He always appeared standing before me, arms slightly outstretched, his robed figure an outline of bright colors in an even brighter light, so that His face would scarcely be visible as a blinding joy emanating from my own longing, and filled in by traditional images of our Lord.
This dream has helped me understand that in loving Jesus Christ more and more every day—in striving to obey Him, to walk with Him in all my thoughts, feelings and actions, in seeking His comfort and strength when I feel weak and afraid—I am also comforting Him. The fact that all I could do in my dream was keep Him company, conscious of how willingly He suffered and still suffers for my sins, gently kissing His cheek, tells me my soul has a long way to go, a fact which in no way diminishes how blessed I feel to have seen my Lord’s face, and to have kissed Him in a lucid dream, for until last night, only He had kissed me in a dream.
I could never have imagined His face as I perceived it. I feel that for every soul His face is equally beautiful in its own unique way, for Christ is the very Spirit of mankind as God created us. And yet Jesus also was, and forever remains, Himself, a man unlike no other for He is God, who took flesh, and lived and walked among us to lead our souls safely Home.
Approximately seven years ago, I had the dream of the man lying in a tomb wrapped in a white shroud, the first dream in “my” book. His eyes were open, but He did not speak. I feel, I hope, this dream begins another seven year period in my spiritual growth.