dream

​I had a dream in my teens.
It was a pleasant day. My family was aboard a Spanish galleon manned by sailors.
Suddenly, a storm approached. The sky grew dark, and a whirlpool lay ahead.
The ship was sucked into the melee. Death was certain.
We were thrown out of the whirlpool at the other end.
All the sailors were missing.
Land was a short distance away. It was black, and the edge of the mountain running the length of the picture was backlit by bright light.
The current took us to the land, and we disembarked.
A steep, straight stone staircase guided us through a black forest on either side, not so dark that I could not see tree branches that would poke out an eye if it were not for the light over the mountain.
The stones led us to the wooden staircase of a mansion, lit up inside and easily viewable with one side of the house removed.
We ascended the stairs to the top and looked left, down a long, balustraded hallway with three closed doors on the right.
I knew my mission was to reach the end of the hallway and the closed door that was there.
I opened it.
Inside was an endless chasm filled with fire, and on the opposite endless wall was Christ in fresco.
I knew instantly that I had to jump across the chasm through the fire and cling to Him with my fingernails.
I turned, and my family was gone. I walked to the first door and opened it, and therein were my two sisters and mother, one seated, the other two standing, crying.
I asked, “What is the matter?”
They said, “It’s impossible.”
I said, “No, it isn’t. Follow me.”
Out the door I went and back to the fire.
I gathered every ounce of courage I had and prepared to jump.
I looked back for the courage the women could give me.
I looked at Christ.
It ended.