In 1965, I began to have flying dreams that were happy and fun. I would feel my body being paralyzed and then lift up and start to fly through a horizontal dark tunnel. The dream would just shift and I would be flying outside–sometimes to other countries with mountains and sometimes in my own backyard. I would do somersaults with sheer delight. I would wake and tell everyone about my adventures! I would fly maybe once or sometimes twice per week. The experiences were always happy and pleasant. I would be excited to go to sleep so I could fly.
In 1967, the tunnel journey shifted to a faster pace. My stomach would drop as if on a carnival ride. They started to make me feel somewhat uneasy while going too fast. I still flew once or twice per week. The scenery was beautiful with rich green grass and high mountain tops.
It was 1970 and my older brother died a violent death. I was not close to him. On the same night as the burial and thereafter, my flying dreams would happen multiple times nightly. They shifted from fun to pure torture as if overnight. I would go through a tunnel in great bodily pain and so fast that I would feel sick to my stomach. I would bounce off the dark tunnel walls and dead hands would twist and grab at me. The pain would worsen–like no pain I could ever explain. It did not feel earthly. My whole body felt as though it was on fire, being tortured from the inside out. As I would leave the tunnel to fly out I was in pure hell. Distorted faces and figures attacked me both physically and sexually. Witches would ravage my body, twisting my limbs and putting their hands in my mouth. They would laugh in a mean voice and sexually torture me. I would bite down on their fingers and hear their bones crunch in my mouth. I would try to fight them off. I was in so much pain. I could not stop them. I screamed over and over, stop…stop…stop. I begged them to stop, but more would come. Their faces were disfigured and they were pure evil. I knew I was in hell. The pain was so great. I surrendered and let them do whatever they wanted. I just learned to take it rather than fight them off. I would awaken so petrified then go back to sleep and it all would start again and again. I refused to sleep so my mother brought me to a child psychologist. They said it was trauma due to my brother’s death, and violence at the funeral parlor between families.
From 1971 on, torture dreams continued year after year, sometimes weekly and sometimes monthly. In this one particular dream I was again flying violently and painfully through a dark tunnel of attack. This time there was a light at the end. I flew out toward the light and found myself in complete illumination. It was warm and loving. I was engulfed in a glitter of warm light, not like a sun or anything earthly but an all-encompassing love. I didn’t see anyone. I felt as though I was home and safe for the first time in my life. I was in ecstasy without pain, sadness, or fear. I was greeted telepathically by a very large and loving presence. This presence took me somewhere to sit down comfortably, and talked to me at great length. I was amazed at what I heard. There was no real time reference but it almost felt like years of conversation in some sort of odd way. After the light was finished telling me what I needed to know, I was told to go back. I did not want to go but it made me. I do not remember how I got back or if I had to go through the tunnel. I woke up and felt so magical and safe and loved. I was in awe of the experience but told no one. I tried to remember what the light told me but could only remember one word, knowledge.
At the age of 12 all I could associate with that was that God wanted me to go to college and I was very disappointed in that message as I hated school! Nonetheless, it was that dream that has saved my life. I tried to go back to that dream state but was never able to. When the torture dreams came back, I learned to call on God and awaken instantly. In the end, I remembered the feeling of safety and love and know somehow I am protected.
I found that drugs and alcohol stopped my flying dreams in about 1974. However once sober again in 1983 they returned to haunt me. My flying dreams are sporadic to this day. They have never gone back to the fun and delight of early childhood, and the magic moment of talking with and feeling the light of God. I continue to be tortured and saved by God through my nightly terrors to this day. They leave me exhausted and depressed and it takes days to recover. I feel such an overwhelming sadness. I awake ugly, old looking, and ashamed of myself. I remember in detail the crunching of human fingers in my mouth. I wonder why I am being tortured this way. What did I do? I am writing this today as I had another flying dream just last night. In this dream I was flying and weeping as I saw some sort of sun peeking through the dark clouds, and I was sure it was over. But, I was only being teased. Soon I was being tortured again; it was just a cruel joke. I usually feel fear the next day and do not return to normal until the second day. I do not want to talk to anyone. I am scared and alone, but pretend all is well as I go about my daily business.