Fearsome Dreaming

Fearsome dreaming

This dream came to me in the same week as a man who wanted something from me that I was not willing to give. Because of this dream, I could respond in a manner that allowed for a positive outcome.

I was walking along an unused railway track. The grass was fiercely trying to reclaim some ground, wrapping around the steel. There were trees, allowing some dappled sunlight to fall all around, with the merest hint of a breeze as company. The vegetation conspired to form a tunnel that lured me further down the track. I was lost in the magnificence of the view, until I noticed a shape appearing. As we moved closer, I could see that it was a man. He, too, was walking along the tracks. I smiled.

I was trying to walk my rhythm to match his. I was trying to feel the impact of his steps on the ground under my feet. The closer we got, the more detailed he became. When we were about 30 metres apart, I could see that he was carrying something in his hand. His arms swung and in the next few steps I could tell that it was a knife. His face did not say that he wanted to be my friend. The tunnel, that was my vision, seemed to be closing in on us and the sun seemed to have found another place to shine.

The gentle beat under my ribcage lost its balance and was frantically trying to regain composure. I was afraid …

The thoughts in my head were swirling: ‘This person wants to harm me! This person wants to take something from me! I’m in trouble! I need help!’


The beat stopped. And I was gasping, air, rasping, air.

Air, beat, air, beat.

Twenty metres.


And then I heard the little voice. It was smiling:

‘Sonja, why is this about you? Why are you the one in trouble? Why are you the one in need?’

The voice actually expected an answer! The audacity! I felt like falling to my knees.

The man was still approaching. I’d stopped walking, paralysed with fear. I could not look at his face. Ten metres. The voice shook inside of me:

‘Why is this about you? Look at this man. Really look at him.’

I lifted my head somewhat. There was an expression on his face for which I could not find a word.

‘Sonja, think’ … Smug little smart voice.

‘If this man wants to harm you, who needs the help? If this man wants to harm another human being, he cannot know what love is. Who needs the help? Who is the one in trouble here?’

I looked at the expression on his face. It puzzled me. What is that?

The voice again: ‘Sonja, you always say “I am wherever I am supposed to be.” So, you have to ask yourself: “Why am I here?”’

We were now five metres apart.

The man stopped. We looked at each other. And I could see the word I was looking for. I saw fear.

Why am I here?