I have had a vision, in dreams, daydreams, and sudden flashes of thought, of what seems to be the apocalypse. This was not fed by organised religion, superstition or anything of that sort. I see a great war, fought in the darkness of night in the frigid woodlands of what has the appearance of Norway or one of the surrounding countries. I see a young soldier, perhaps 23, crawling through the snow, and he is always wounded with one hand on his rifle and another on his chest or shoulder. He looks of germanic descent, I have the feeling he is Irish. The battle he is fighting in seems “old fashioned” by today’s standards, a war where old methods have been returned to, basically ground troops, real people, and less threat of nuclear death. He is isolated, alone and struggling to survive as he makes his way through the driving snow, winding through the tall gnarled trees and leaving blood in the snow behind him. The view flashes to a small canvas tent in the same dark woods, and it seems that I am sitting there among military equipment in the otherwise abandoned tent with a single oil lamp burning next to me. The soldier, gasping in hypothermic pain, inches toward the light of the tent he sees filtering through the trees in front of him. I sense his presence outside, peer out, and pull his cold wet body into the tent. He falls back into my arms, and I tear his clothes off and cover him in warm, dry blankets. I gently pull the makeshift piece of cloth bandage off his deep, large bullet wound, extract the bullet, and wrap his chest or arm in gauze tightly. He seems very relieved and just barely smiles as he passes out and another vision occurs. This time I am in the same region, but on the edge of the woodlands, and I am sitting around a great bonfire with several other people. Our arms are intertwined and we are huddling together in the wind, a large circle watching as the flames dance before us. Into and out of the fire flys bits of charred newspaper, I read on one piece lying in the snow before me of the horror of the great war and the greed of the nations fighting it. Suddenly it seems that I break away from the others and walk through the flames, steaking a large pole or tattered white flag into the snow. You see, the fire is in a circle around me, but the snow is still intact in the center of the fire I have jumped into. As I drive the stake into the ground, my vision flashes over once again. In my last vision, I am laying at the bottom of an enormous hill, which I believe to be the one I was just on top of. The woods are still to my right, and I struggle up the hill as the freezing snow melts on my skin and seeps into the long white dress and brown deerskin boots I wear. I hear a bellow, deep, loud and longing overhead. When I look up, I see it is the same man that I had nursed, yet he is standing upright atop the hill and is dressed in the same worn down peasant wear that I am in. I dash up the hill to meet him. Meanwhile the milky white sky is turning a deep red

December 30th, 2001 at 8:48 pm in Our Fault

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