2/1/25 Purim: I was standing in the kitchen, making coffee. While doing this, I was thinking about my problems and sorrows. I thought about my secret, my calling for my life, the writing I know I'm called to do, and the backlash this writing will undeniably cause. I was fearing that backlash. "How am I going to do these things?" I asked myself. Then I heard in my spirit someone shout: PURIM! as if to comment on those thoughts. I don't know what Purim means, except it's some Jewish holiday. I made a search: "What does it mean to shout Purim?" I learned the following:
"Shouting Purim" refers to the Jewish tradition of making loud noises, often with noisemakers called "graggers," whenever the name "Haman" is mentioned during the reading of the Book of Esther on the holiday of Purim; this act is meant to symbolically "blot out" the name of the villainous Haman from the story, representing the triumph over evil and celebrating the Jewish people's deliverance.
Key points about shouting Purim:
* Purim 2025 will take place on, Adar 14th, 5785 (Hebrew calendar). Purim begins at night, on March 13, 2025 and ends on March 14, 2025 at the end of the day.
I have decided to publish something on Purim, March 13, 2025. Although it is terrifying, I will do so because of what I have heard inside me and what I have learned about Purim. It will be my way of shouting Purim and blotting out the voice that tells me I can't do this.
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2/6/25 A Tree Called Eternity: Today, I was reminded of a dream I had a few years ago. In it, I walked through the forest of my childhood in Finland, moving down a wooden slope to a beach. This forest exists in real life, but in the dream, I was shown that the same slope also existed on a spiritual plane, in Heaven.
As I walked, I passed a small, young spruce tree on the slope. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I knew then that this tree was a divider. It stood as a marker in time and space. Somehow, I understood that passing this tree would determine where each of us—you and I—would spend eternity.
I’m painfully aware of how inadequately my words explain this. All I can say is I knew, with every part of me, that a small, young spruce tree exists somewhere in time and space. It exists in both the physical world and the spiritual realm. It’s called Eternity. And there will come a moment, a precise point in time, when all of us will pass that tree. One way or another, we will face it, and that moment will decide where we spend our eternity.
In the dream, every cell in my body screamed: There is no turning back after that!
I woke up frightened. I wanted to push it away, but I couldn’t. I knew that it wasn’t just a dream. This was communication; it was knowledge.
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2/9/25 Valkyrie: I was reminded of an experience I had a few years ago. One night, as I was lying in bed, drifting off to sleep, I distinctly heard "Valkyrie." Along with hearing it, I had a strong feeling that I was a Valkyrie. At the time, I knew there was an opera by Wagner called The Valkyrie, with a part in it called The Ride of the Valkyries, but I didn’t know much about it. So, I decided to search for more information online. Here’s what I found:
In Norse mythology, a Valkyrie is a female warrior who chooses which fallen soldiers are worthy of entering Valhalla, the Norse afterlife. The word "Valkyrie" translates to "chooser of the slain."
Role:
Appearance:
Valkyries in culture:
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2/19/25: I felt strongly about writing about a vision I’d seen. Simultaneously, I was reminded of a series of dreams I’d had at a different time. The vision and the series of dreams went hand in hand, and they spoke about the same thing.
A woman snuffed out: I had a vision of a woman’s face—a Black woman, perhaps in her mid-forties or fifties, not so young anymore, someone who’s seen life. I watched her as she closed her eyes in total surrender, giving in to a force greater than her. That force snuffed her out like a light. I watched the life drain out from her face as she fell to the wayside, like something useless that was thrown into a ditch.
I knew what took her was some kind of narcotics.
It felt like my spirit was looking in at her through a secret window, witnessing a private moment in her life — something raw and painful but tightly guarded and hidden. I remember thinking, “You rarely see a face so naked and stripped of its armor.” I don't know what drove her to reach such despair that the only relief was whatever substance she took.
I don’t know if she died.
“See me,” I felt her face say to me. “I am here. I am also here!”
Thinking about the pain on her face still brings tears to my eyes.
The Fish Tank: Then, I was reminded of a series of dreams I’ve had for at least the past 15 years. The dreams vary, but they always follow the same pattern. I go into a building and realize that somewhere in that building, there is a fish tank with fish in it that belongs to me, completely forgotten and neglected. In my shock and guilt, I realize that I have forgotten to feed and care for them. I am convinced that they will all be dead by now.
But when I go to look, they’re always alive. No matter how long they’ve been, they're always alive. It could be a year or two, three, four, or five years, but they’re always alive. I begin cleaning the tank frantically, feeding them, promising to take care of them from now on, vowing not to be the neglectful owner I was.
I'm also reminded of a Bible scripture from Matthew 4:19: "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men."
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2/27/25 When the Earth Blew Up:
I was reminded of a recurring dream I used to have. For quite some time, I experienced different variations, sometimes months or even years apart. The theme was always the same: I would take a trip to outer space with a group of people, and the journey was always educational. We were constantly reassured that the trip was safe, yet deep inside, I knew there were no guarantees we’d make it back.
We traveled to various places in outer space, often visiting the moon, but occasionally venturing even farther. I always felt nervous during these trips, aware that the only thing protecting me was the thin walls of the spacecraft. I was at its mercy.
I had these dreams regularly for a long time, until a period in my life when I underwent significant changes. I was in the process of leaving an emotionally abusive marriage. Just before that turning point, I had the same dream again—but this time, as I looked out the spacecraft window, I saw the Earth explode. There was nothing to return to.
I’ve always interpreted that dream as symbolizing my profound spiritual shift. It was as if I were venturing into parts of myself that meant I could never return to the life I had known.