My Prophetic Dream
HELP! SOMEONE HELP!
I woke up immediately! Sat straight up in bed and looked around in the dark. I felt my surroundings with my hands, much like a newly blind person might.
“Where am I? What is going on? Where is Bill“?
I jump up from my humble sleeping arrangement which is positioned on the floor of my sparse little downtown apartment. It is quiet…deathly quiet. I stumble to the light switch, flick it on and look around. I am at home. I am in my comfortable little studio apartment, and all is as it should be.
Something is wrong.
I sit down at the large redwood burl table in my big kitchen which is just off the front room/bedroom of this small place, and begin to recall what had just happened…what woke me so abruptly?
IT'S ONLY A DREAM.....?
I am walking in the hills west of Napa; the range between Napa Valley and Sonoma Valley. These are gently rolling, green, large mounds, really. Just big enough to be called hills or even a small mountain range. The terrain is populated with smatterings of Valley Oak, Live Oak, Madrone, Manzanita, Pin and scrub Oak trees along with a myriad of native grasses, weeds and sprinkled with lava like pebbles from pre historic events.
I see myself in this familiar environment except, what in the world am I doing in the middle of this hilly area? And why is no one else accompanying me? Strange.
In the distance, I hear the ‘swoosh’ of a sound which I know too well. The whoosh of hot air being blown into the envelope of a hot air balloon.
At this point, I should tell you that my older brother, Bill, is an excellent Hot-Air Balloonist. He had been doing this for years. He started a company in the San Francisco Bay Area with his best friend, Steve. They were known, then, as Armageddon Enterprises. While a student at U.C. Berkeley, studying genetics and enrolled in pre-med courses, he helped finance his education through his incredible entrepreneurial spirit. He was, and is, adept at piloting these fantastic flying machines .
So, back in the hills between Sonoma and Napa. The weather is a little breezy and the day is bright and shiny. The temperature is perfect; who could ask for a better day?
The quiet approach of the Hot Air Baloon is not lost on me. I turn to see it drift, softly, just over my head. It seems a little low, though.
SOMETHING ISN'T RIGHT
I think, “Shouldn’t the pilot have that vehicle a little higher? Specially at this time of day.” I know that, rarely is one to see the colorful display of balloons after late morning. When noon approaches, the winds pick up and, because these craft are directed by the shifts in winds, it is far too dangerous to fly later in the day.
I know these things; and I know that there are several sizes of these lighter than air craft. The one above me is a smaller version; one meant to hold two to four people but, certainly, not the six that I believe I am able to count. This is odd..and certainly, not safe. And it is flagging; weighted down, I imagine, from extra poundage aboard.
But, here it is. And flying too low. The tree tops are high here; and the motorless balloon appears to be about to brush over the tops of these oaks and madrones. Suddenly, a sharp wind rushes through and, immediately, the Hot Air craft swings to and fro; buffeted by the winds and moving quite rapidly now. In my shock, I see it slam into a sturdy, big Pin Oak and, as sit does, the basket in which people ride turns sideways and , from a distance, now; I believe I see someone fall out.
Oh My God! I hear the rush of flame from the gas fed burners and know that this is a rapid response to raise the passengers up above the tree line and away from harm.
WHAT HAS HAPPENED?
I think, “that was Bill…that was my brother falling out of the gondola…and they’re leaving him..They’re flying away and he’s out there.” I run and run hoping I am going the right way; heading in the right direction.
Hours pass…I’m moving in slow motion…I just cannot reach my fallen brother. He fell at least 100 feet, maybe more. My mind is now racing…asking questions: I'm sure he must have tumbled through high canopies, limbs and onto rocky ground…why can’t I move any faster? I HAVE to help him…someone, where are you?” “Why did they leave him here?” "who is flying that balloon?"
It HAS been hours, it has become midday and my brother is out there, somewhere…alone, probably critically injured….
I am helpless; mired in the murky, sticky, immobility of dreamscape. Imprisoned by forces beyond my ability to overcome.
Soon, thank God! I am hearing sirens…there must be a road closer than I thought or the wind is carrying sound which echos through the hills and dales. I remember…..
‘AWAKE! Where am I? What is going on? Where is Bill?”
Sitting at the kitchen table, wide awake and still under the influence of the emotions and terror stirred by the dream; I realize that it was a dream. All is ok. Bill is ok. Go back to bed.
Days, weeks passed and life went on as usual. Friends came by, we went on long bicycle rides, my dog, Primo and I enjoyed leisurely walks, Miss Pussy M. Footer, my calico cat, slept peacefully on the overstuffed chair, dates happened, work, extracurricular classes experienced…all was well.
I had been out with friends to a local movie. We all said our “goodbyes, see ya’ tomorrow…” and I walked on home to my second story studio apartment. Everything was fine.
I climbed the stairway to the landing and approached my front door. To the right of this door is a small tablet which hangs on the door frame; a place for friends who missed me to leave notes and where I jot down my whereabouts and time frame so those who ‘need to know,’ will know.
I always check the little notebook for the latest communication
There, in bold print, frantic, uneven lettering, was a note from my mother…….
Kathy, it’s 5pm….your brother has fallen from his balloon…he’s in the hospital.. it's critical! come NOW!