I know, I know, other people’s dreams are really, really boring. But this one’s effect on me was so magical that I felt compelled to write it down.
There was a large, modern hallway, like the entrance to a museum or some other attraction. It led to a ride, which you could choose to go on, or not. I entered the ride, which was a ladder in the sky, reaching between levels of clouds. There were other people on the ladder, but they were just cloudy shapes; you couldn’t see their faces. The ladder itself was made of cloud, too, and was completely insubstantial. It was only by close concentration that you could carry on moving along it.
Then I fell off the ladder and found myself back in the entrance hallway. It was explained that I had committed suicide, and that this is why I had fallen off the ladder. I was 35 years old and my baby had been killed by my husband (so I wasn’t ‘me’). There was a lot of counselling and I was shown the location of my baby’s body. Then I moved on to helping other people who had fallen off the ladder. Eventually, I was given the opportunity to climb the ladder again. At that point, there was some sort of test. I could see that I was ready, in a way that I hadn’t been before and I was filled with a huge sense of joy.
At that point, I woke up, still feeling joyful.
Just a dream, I know. And I’m not a religious person. But that feeling of joy at being able to move on was so real that I can’t help hoping that there was an element of truth in there.