It Was Just A Dream…

In the course of the day to day, sometimes we are arrested from our routine by events, even visions of unexplainable nature, the extra or supernatural. And, after a lengthy reflection of that which has perplexed our souls, we have at least two options. The first option is to discount what has happened and chalk it up as nothing, the “It was just a dream” option. The next option is something much more dangerous, to believe and implement a plan of action according to the reality purposed in the dream. We have examples of this throughout history, simple men that God inspires to do great things, and often by vexing their souls until that mantle is grasped by His agent.

The autumn air was cool and the mist of the coming night was settling in, as I ended my long hard day. After supper, I took to reclining out on the back porch, a sip or two of Tennessee whiskey to level my spirit and ease my eyes into an awaited sleep. A sleep that would come soon and trouble my soul, for in my slumber I was met with three distinct but all too connected dreams.

Through the cool night air, my eyes flickering in and out of rest, a man appeared to me from the mist, a warrior. A warrior dressed in a crimson robe, bronze helmet with black plumage, shield emblazoned with regal horse, sword sheathed by his side, and spear in hand. He stood among the cliffs, wedged in a narrow pass, his cries, loud and strong, implored me to join him, ”Stand with me in the gap, save our land, our women, our children, save us from slavery!” His voice was resolute, I ran hard to the point of exhaustion to join him. I woke for just a moment, only to realize, it was just a dream.

Another sip of whiskey to ease my more troubled mind now, yet my next visitor did not hesitate to enjoin my restlessness. Dressed in white vestments, scarlet cross upon his chest, chain mail upon his head, not one part of him was not covered in dust, sweat, and blood, nor his gallant steed. “Antioch calls for you, come help us brother, the place where we were first called Christian has fallen, do not tarry!” My heart pounding, understanding the anguish of my brother’s cries, it felt as though my chest would explode as I rushed to his aid. Jolted! I awoke again, and realized, it was just a dream.

I tried with every bit of strength not to drift back into slumber again, frightened by what vision would overtake me if my eyes failed me, and to my terror, what I saw next made me tremble, quake in my very soul. A specter came flying in on the night mist, grabbing my hand with a deadly grip and carried me away on his haunting flight. Down below lay the ruins of once great cities, cities where my ancestors’ graves and monuments were now left desecrated, vandalized, and destroyed. The shadows of Richmond, Charlottesville, Memphis, and hundreds of others cities and small towns in my native land, my home, lay beneath me. Graves ruined, heroes forgotten, and all while I slept, while I had rested. But, that did not shame me as what was to come.

Our flight paused, my specter and I hovered over the procession of two coffins draped in noble ancient flags, removed from their natural resting place. The memories of Mary Ann and Nathan Bedford Forrest rose to meet me, to accuse me of their disturbance, General Forrest enraged that his lady’s resting place had been defiled, his love had been dishonored. I wept in disgrace. I mourned as I had never mourned, not even for my departed parents, or lost children, my tears, bitter, and salty.

Sobbing, I awakened, but it was just a dream…

Father Dabney

Service to God and honor to the South.