Date: 24-08-2020
Introduction:
This night I had one of the most intense dreams I have had in a long time. Without any doubt, this was one of my scariest dreams ever. The dream lasted long, too. I wondered around in this dream world for hours through its different scenes. I have memorised the highlights, but there was so much more than this, especially side stories, and conversations that also took place. I just simply couldn’t remember it all. The chronology of the story below is accurate. This is what took place.
The Amersfortian Volcano:
It started like this. Our family – consisting of me, my parents, my little brother and my older sister – were visiting friends of our parents. These friends’ house stood at the ‘Willem van Otterloostraat’ in Amersfoort. The daughters of my sister were non-existent. I think they weren’t born in this dream. I think this was our family around the time we had a dog named ‘Pandy’ and this dog was still in its good days. We sat outside in the front of the house of these friends of ours, on plastic garden chairs.
Through the front window I could see through the house, through the back windows, over their yard, and it looked like it bordered on some kind of valley with hills in the distance. The terrain had a bit of a slope to it, and the visible horizon ended in a somewhat raised ridge. The horizon was far away, as if the house stood higher than the surroundings. I also saw what looked like the side of an immense deep crevice, at least a kilometre long, running parallel to the horizon.
I was staring at the view, taking it all in, when suddenly I saw the aftermath of an explosion and a mushroom cloud rising from the side of the ridge all the way in the distance. It was far away, but noticeably a strong explosion, especially apparent because of the absence of sound which hadn’t reached us yet I think. Part of the ridge wall had collapsed due to the explosion, and I saw what probably looked like the last moves of what was a massive landslide.
I was excited but kept my cool, and ushered my brother to come look, calling his name, telling him to come quickly. But he was flirting with one of his Asian girlfriends, and he didn’t want to move. I insisted though and described what I had seen. Dad came looking after I had described it. He wanted to see this. “Ow wow!” He exclaimed. The mushroom cloud was now drifting slowly out of view and began losing its shape. I again urged my brother to come see it before he would no longer be able to.
It convinced him to come look, and he saw the cloud peacefully move about until it was out of sight. Suddenly the ground shook and dust filled the air around us. We witnessed another explosion, but this one was absolutely massive. My brother and I looked at each other as we both understood what was about to happen; a sonic shock wave was about to hit us. We peered into the distance towards the ridge. It almost looked like a volcanic event. But a volcano? In Amersfoort?
Everyone was looking at the dust cloud that was towering in the distance, higher than any and all structures in the city. But everyone was looking at it in wonder, apparently unaware of the danger that was approaching us fast. As if possessed I started urging people to cover their ears, first our family, then other people around us. “Cover your ears! Cover your ears!” But I had no idea how long it would take to get to us. “Cover your ears! There is a loud explosion sound on its way here!” Some did, but many didn’t or did it just a few seconds and then lowered their hands again, completely unaware. I even had to tell dad multiple times to keep his ears covered.
I persisted and my panicky voice finally seemed to convince the growing crowd around us, who came to view the cloud, of the urgency of the matter. I kept on repeating the warning not knowing when that boom came until…
BOOOOOOOMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmm
There it was. It was a deep explosion, terrifyingly loud. It was one of the loudest boom sounds I had ever heard in my live. Not the loudest, but a worthy contestant. As it arrived in that split second, an audible cry of panic of hundreds of people accompanied the boom sound.
It was like the sound of thunderclouds, when the lightning strikes within a few hundred meters, hard and loud, with a long lasting low after tone as it creeped into the distance, bouncing of structures and terrain. As it slowly died down the sound of car alarms and dogs barking in the distance were now becoming audible. It continued for a few minutes, until all sounds ceased. There was complete silence. The people shared a collective awareness that our city would be in the news that evening, because of some disaster that had taken place here, but we didn’t even know what that disaster actually was.
There were many questions on everyone’s mind. Unspoken we all knew everyone wanted to know the same things. What created this explosion? And how bad are things at ground zero? Where was ground zero exactly? But the silence was about to be broken. I heard the sound of a window breaking in the distance. Then the sound of a small rock impacting and tumbling down from the roof tiles of a nearby roof. And then another. And another. And again, and again, and again and again. It was as if a group of children were throwing rocks from the roof of a high apartment building.
Again my brother and I looked at each other. Again we both knew what was going to happen. The debris the explosion had kicked up was about to come raining down on us. We realised this disaster we had witnessed was still ongoing, and it was not done yet inflicting damage to the city. And as gently and far apart as the first stones introduced this next event, it escalated rapidly and intensely into a hailstorm of rocks and stones, ranging from the size of small marbles up to the size of soda cans. They rained down from a slight angle downwards from the direction of the initial explosion.
All around us we heard the sound of glass breaking and roof tiles shattering. Instinctively we all initially started running in a direction away from the explosion, but quickly realised we would just be exposing ourselves to the barrage of stones raining down on us. We moved towards the houses in the direction of the explosion, and stood against their walls. My brother and sister were still with me at this point. As the bombardment of stone and rock slowly subsided, silence slowly seeped back in place. It died down slowly, until we could hear the amount of stones coming down resemble how it started, but in reverse.
And then it stopped. It was safe to come out and move about. Dust still hung in the air. The damage was enormous. There was debris everywhere, and all houses and cars in the area were badly damaged. This was really bad. This was a disaster of proportions our city had not seen ever, not even during the second world war. My sister exclaimed: “I want to go home!” But the fear in my brother and me had made way for curiosity, and we actually wanted to look around. We told her to go to our parents, and that we would join them later. We were going on the assumption that mom and dad were still at their friends’ house. As she walked away my brother and I made plans. We both agreed that if we found higher ground we would be able to best asses the damage, maybe even get a good view of the cause of the explosion, which was still unclear at this point.
In tandem we both exclaimed: “The Willem III flat!” We had both delivered the mail there in the past as we both had worked at the postal service (though in that dream that should’ve been still the present as this seems to be taking place in the past). We both knew that flat inside out, and knew it had a staircase that went all the way to the top where there was a view window to look out over part of the city. So we set out to go to that building, as it was nearby too. As we walked towards it, it became twilight as dusk had began to set in. It was about to become evening. On the bright side, the panic in everyone around us seemed to slowly subside too.
We arrived at the flat, but there was a large crowd gathering in front of the entrance. We figured that we were probably not the first people to come up with the idea to check out the view from this building. We squeezed ourselves through the crowd, while dust was filling the air and started to block the sun. It became darker and darker, rapidly. When we approached the entrance it became apparent that the flat had been subjected to changes. Where there used to be a seating area was now a reception desk with two receptionists sitting behind it, working behind a computer screen. It looked like if you wanted to enter the flat you had to report to this front desk first, and unauthorised entry was probably now no longer permitted. But we wouldn’t give up on our mission.
We planned to try and sneak through. It was so busy at the front desk, and all we had to do was wait until someone exited the sliding doors from the inside and we would try and make our way into the building. And so we did. But once inside the game of sneaking in turned out not even to be necessary at all. The desk employees both were very understanding of our wish to go and see the view upstairs. We weren’t the first ones to go. But the stairs had been replaced by rope ladders. Completely impractical, even more considering this was an old folks flat. And this turned into such a strange and surreal scene. We were still engaged in a completely faked conversation between each other about going to visit grandma and grandpa, as if to legitimise our presence inside the flat, even though this was not even needed any more. We started our strange journey upwards.
This story gets even stranger and solidly enters the realm of surreality now. On our way up we came across a tarantula, which was sitting somewhere on a construction beam. I have no idea how this works, but in this dream this large arachnid also represented a phone my brother had lost some time ago in this dream reality. Perhaps he had lost it when he was delivering mail inside this flat, and it wondered around here all that time? But I recognised the species as a Pterinochilus, which is a dangerous and aggressive species of tarantula from Africa. My brother thought it was a friendly one; a Grammostola rosea. But I convinced him not to touch it. We climbed on and arrived at the top of the rope ladders, where there was a concrete plateau. From there the old concrete staircase continued on upwards. We weren’t on the highest floor yet, and on the floors above us but many people were standing on the different levels peering outside.
From down below where we were we could see over the shoulders of the people through the window up into the sky outside of that window. And to our surprise we could now see a volcano towering in the distance. This answered our question as to what caused the explosion. The first blast was indeed a volcano, and it had grown considerably in size since. It was huge! Outside it was now pitch black. The only light we saw came from the volcano which was leaking lava from its mount. Above the cone shaped mountain a plume of smoke kilometres high rose in the air, accompanied by occasional flashes of lightning. While we hung on the ropes still, taken in by this sight, tragedy struck again. The volcano exploded once more. And like the first sudden eruption it was followed with the same events, in the same succession. The difference being, this volcano was much bigger.
In a fraction of a second the second mushroom cloud shot out from the crater at the top. It was so enormous, and moved quickly too, even though it was so far away. The panic of the first explosion and its aftermath which had subsided, now instantly returned. If it wasn’t clear before it was now undeniable evident our city was still in the midst of a disaster that was still unfolding, and the extent of which was unknown and which only seemed to be getting worse. We knew the drill. Another shock wave was on its way now. It arrived much quicker than the first one though, and everyone screamed in panic. The sound did not seem that much louder than the first one, though, but the mount of the volcano now looked so much more menacing than before. It was hellish. But not just the shock wave arrived quicker; the next phase also came sooner than expected. And it was terrible.
This bombardment of debris was a few tiers up compared to the previous one, and it didn’t come with a subtle introduction. We could hear that outside the flat the city was being pounded by pieces of rock much bigger than before, and within a few seconds we heard and felt rocks impacting on the roof of the flat, which almost immediately gave way and plummeted down. The whole staircase and all inside constructions collapsed downwards. All windows shattered. Nothing but the strongest concrete walls and beams broke in pieces. The plateaus on which those people stood survived but people must’ve been injured or worse. In the panic my brother and I had let go of the ropes and we let ourselves fall down. Miraculously we survived, but we were in full blown panic mode. Everyone was.
The bombardment was over quicker too compared to the first one. When it died down, we dusted ourselves off and went outside through what was left of the entrance of the flat. We walked outside, evading impacting rocks, still. Shell shocked we looked around us. It was like a war zone. There is no other way to describe it. There was smoke everywhere, ruined houses, completely wrecked cars, and many panicking survivors. My brother and I set out to find our parents and sister. We had no idea of their fate, but in honesty I was more worried about my own life now than theirs. I was unable to worry about other people but myself at this point. It was so scary, and I was so terribly afraid. I simply did not want to die. But my survival depended on finding mom and dad alive. They had a car (a blue Opel Vectra), and I reasoned that with the car we could get away from the volcano.
My brother and I agreed to go look for mom and dad. On our way towards where they supposedly could be we ran into our sister again. She had survived the second explosion and its aftermath too, and was still looking for mom and dad but had not found them. She said: “We really need to get out of here.” And we, of course, agreed. But then I realised we probably had to convince them not just to drive away from the neighbourhood, but to leave the city and with it our house completely. We needed to get the fuck away from here, pronto. As I realised this, I stood still on the street, and I pictured how that conversation would go. But then something surreal happened again, and instead of wondering about it I actually left that scene as if I teleported myself away to another reality. I physically went to our house, and stood on the driveway with my dad. The car was parked near the front door, and the car doors were all open, as was the front door of the house.
So I started the conversation with him and tried to convince him we had to leave everything behind and just get out of Amersfoort completely. He didn’t even disagree but wanted to try and save as much of our stuff as possible, and he was in the process of stuffing the car full of things from the house. I didn’t get through to him when I said our lives are more important than all this stuff. “Dad, those things are all replaceable. Our lives aren’t.” But he didn’t want to hear it, and dragged one item after the other out of the house to put into or on top of the car. As I didn’t seem to get through to him, and since I really needed him to drive the car, I gave up and started helping him. I went upstairs and got his computer and all side equipment. I figured that’s the one thing I know more about than him, so I might as well help him with that part. We continued until the car couldn’t possibly handle more.
But from there, I went one level upwards, like I teleported to another dimension inside the dimension I had teleported into. It felt like I went into a dimension of a dimension. Because I had pictured this conversation, I was now picturing something from my state of picturing another thing. Total inception! And what I pictured was our family with the stuffed car outside of the city. We were at a known gas station along one of the highways near the city. We were all there, all five of us. We stood outside the car, looking into the direction of the city centre. We saw the dark towering volcano on the horizon. “This is still too close.” I thought to myself. So I went another level deeper, and imagined I imagined to imagine what it would be like if we got on the highway and followed it until the next city. I found us at the junction to Nijkerk on the A28, overlooking the horizon, where there was a huge Mercedes dealership. The same thing; us all outside the car looking at the horizon in the direction of the city centre.
We saw the same scary hellish picture but from much further away now. This was a good distance. I knew now what we had to do, so I went back through three layers of reality and arrived back in the centre of an Amersfoort which I could barely recognise at this point. Because of all my teleportation I now lost my brother and sister. I wasn’t at the same spot from where I had teleported away from. It looked like some kind of industrial estate, but I also recognised parts of the city core, nearby what is called the ‘kamperbinnenpoort’. It was a weird mix of industry and the road behind the hollow bridge. In the dream this was supposed to be further away from the epicentre than was the place where I started this horrid adventure. Further away from it than were all other members of our family.
I decided to try and contact my brother through a messaging app, but my phone was this new futuristic looking thing with all kinds of weird functions and gadgets. I kid you not; it was a rubber head of a guy (looked like the head of the guy from the Efteling, with the long neck). The rubber head had its mouth fully open, and in the opening was a display to access the different functions and apps. I saw a few familiar icons, but no WhatsApp or Telegram, and not even an icon to use the call function. It was so confusing. I turned the thing around to the back of the head, where I discovered there was a sort of access hatch. I pulled it away, and realised I had to put it on as a mask, and this would allow me access to all its functions, including being able to call my brother. I tried to put it on but I couldn’t fit my head inside it. It was impossible. But then I suddenly realised if I succeeded in calling him he would have to answer his spider phone and would need to hold a tarantula against his ears. I didn’t want that for him, so I decided to just try and get to him on foot.
Our city lay in ruins. It looked like we were in the middle of a war. Every building except a few sturdy ones were damaged or destroyed, and the streets and squares were littered with debris of all sizes and also many dead people. It was a horrific sight. I felt the weight of this disaster come down on me again, and the realisation that the city I once knew no longer existed, and most people I knew there were now probably dead. I walked around in the leftovers of a past that would forever be gone. It was actually quite unwise to traverse the distance to go look for my brother, but I just couldn’t cope with the idea he lay there somewhere in pain, perhaps dying alone. I was determined to go find him. But I would not get my chance to try. Unbeknownst to me, this disaster did not even reach its crescendo yet.
I found myself surrounded by a few lone survivors, who were wandering around aimlessly on the industry square. We wondered towards a very large industrial building, made of huge concrete blocks, with large thick metal industrial sized containers sitting in the front of the complex. De mount of the volcano was obscured from our view by this structure, and while we were walking there we were suddenly shocked by the sound of yet another explosion. This explosion was so much louder than any of the previous ones. Easily the hardest boom I have ever heard in my life. There was nothing fun about it. It was pure violence, manifested into a single sound.
!!!!!!BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!
My whole body heard the sound, and it was nothing but deafening. All previous explosions were mere fly farts compared to this one. It was the mother of all explosions.
The next things all happened in just mere seconds, starting with the first fraction of a second after the explosion sounded. We looked towards the streets and saw how cars and trucks were blasted through the street by the shock wave. It was so strong it was able to sweep large vehicles through the streets like leafs in the wind. We realised what this was, and the only reason we were still breathing was because we stood in the shadow of this large industrial building, which had shielded us from that shock wave. And the next phase was on its way too, and it came quick. But not before haunting us once more with an eerie silence. We didn’t know the next part would come so quick, and to get a good estimate of where we should position ourselves we went around the building to take a gander at the volcano. What we saw on the horizon could have easily been a scene of the deepest and most horrifying levels of hell itself. On the now many kilometres high mount towered an even larger mushroom cloud. It seemed to move in slow motion. But it wasn’t slow motion; this was just such a huge structure that all rapid movement seemed to take a long time. Debris flew from the mount in an angle. It was coming.
We knew what was next. But after seeing what we saw we knew there was probably no escaping this one. It started raining blocks of rock the size of cars, that impacted what was left of the buildings around us, shattering them like houses made of cards. I saw them impact here and there all around me, and I knew this was just the beginning. I have never felt more fear in my life. Fear took over from me, completely. There was no me any longer. It was just pure instinct. And instinctively I dove into the corner straight on the ground next to the building as the third eruption unleashed upon the city its third and most devastating onslaught. I braced for the bombardment that would undoubtedly change the face of this piece of land for the rest of time. This city as it once was, was about to be wiped from the face of the Earth altogether, and I had very little hope to even live through it. I was afraid, so terribly afraid. And then came the bulk of it.
Rocks the size of buildings ploughed through the debris filled landscape. The noise was deafening, just simply deafening. And it kept intensifying, kept building up, and up and up. More and more and more boulders, louder and louder and louder. I laid crouched against the concrete of the building, arms in front of my face, legs against my torso, and my body was ever more impacted by debris of the environment that was being smashed and shattered and pulverised all around me. It was like I was being sandblasted with small rocks. The air was filled with nothing but material and sound. That’s all that existed at this moment. Intense sound, and rocky material. There was no protecting against this violence. It mowed down what was left of the city to ground level. Whether I was going to survive was purely a matter of chance. It went on for a minute, maybe longer, and then slowly the noise started to die down. There was a sliver of hope. I was still alive.
The noise died down ever more. The rain of stone and debris slowly started to lessen. It lessened and lessened, the sound became less deafening, until it became almost bearable. It died down further and further, ever less debris fell down, and it fell less hard. Until it stopped. And there was the eerie silence one last time. All was quiet. I stood up, and looked around me. The industrial building that had shielded me was gone. All that was left of it was a 1 foot high ground down wall which I had cowered behind. Had the debris rain continued for 10 seconds longer, it would’ve been gone and me along with it. It was the only structure that had any form. The rest of the city was absolutely gone. It wasn’t destroyed; it was erased. There was nothing left. As far as my eyes could see the horizon was all flat, except behind me where I looked one more time at the mount. Pure evil looked back at me. All that was left was me, and the volcano.
I woke up, bathed in sweat, with the image of the volcano still fresh on my retina. I checked the time. It was 5:05 AM. I felt a strange urge to call my mother to give her a message. I cannot describe it any other way than just to say it felt like I had to contact my mom and pass a message to her from the beyond. At this point it had been years since I last spoke to them, as I shunned them completely after I moved out of the house. This urge to do something after waking up was a genuine feeling I sometimes get after such a profound dream experience, and the feeling I got was I had to give my mother this message:
Please stop what you are planning to do, because it will destroy everything we hold dear. We will lose all we have and will lose each other in that process.
Aftermath 13-01-2024:
I had no idea what it was about yet, and to be honest I was genuinely scared of calling her and bringing her this message out of the blue. I had no idea what was going on and although I did consider to call her that day a few times, I didn’t dare. I was scared of her. Scared of how she would react. The day went by, and before I knew it the moment was gone. I let it go, but the dream remained actively with me in the days after. I typed it out and shared it with my brother and sister the same day after dreaming it. They could add pieces to the puzzle. And while translating this into English in the year 2024, even more things have fallen into place now. Before I write those things, let me first share the analysis I wrote the morning after I had this intense dream, and which I sent to my brother and sister accompanying the dream itself. I’ve worded it a little different as to retract their names.
Analysis:
The dream was filled with metaphors. Maybe that something bad is coming to Amersfoort? Whatever it is, it will come in phases.
The dream took place in the ‘Willem III flat’, that resides in the ‘Willem III neighbourhood’ on the ‘Willem van Otterloostreet’ and that was no coincidence. I am somehow right in the middle of this.
I think that the scene where I teleported to the house to find dad saving things from the past is full of metaphors too. Dad cannot let go of the past. You won’t be able to convince him to let it go. But in the dream I realised something that I now think means that it is important to try and get through this together.
Something else I take from it is that I have to stay as far away from Amersfoort (probably not meaning the city but the family situation itself) as possible, because getting too close to it is dangerous for me. For my ‘being’.
The spider and mask telephones are also very important. I have to put on a mask if I want to call my brother, who is very close my mom, dad, and sister, close to the centre of Amersfoort which was a scene of misery and suffering. But the mask doesn’t fit, and even if it did, it would mean I would force him to answer that call through a dangerous spider. A spider he thought was harmless.
I don’t know what I am going to do now. Somewhere I feel the urge to call home, but I’m afraid to do so. And I fear that even if I did it would fall on deaf ears. I see the dream as a message to show me I have choices to make, and which consequences those choices may have.
Second analysis 13-01-2024, over three and a half years later:
So much more has fallen into place for me. But I am now weighing what I want to share as sharing it all means I tread on unspoken rules of trampling over the privacy of my family members. Sharing none removes all context of this dream. The context is really important to understand the entirety of the dream. But I have never asked my family members for their permission to share the stories that detail some level of information about the happenings in our lives that would otherwise not be publicly available. I imagine if the roles were reversed I would not like it myself either, but would have nothing but that complaint to issue to the other family member. Although admittedly I would never ask them for permission as the memories are shared experiences, and I think I wouldn’t even get permission if I had asked. But that doesn’t mean I do not understand the point of such complaints. What I will do is to balance best I can what I divulge, in an effort not to overshare but still share enough so that it may make sense to you. I think this dream can help you picture how my mind and perception works and how I became the person who wrote all what you see here. It also illustrates well how my dreams – though very cryptic – depict future events through metaphorical means.
Let me start with what happened in the days after. I dreamt this on the morning of a Monday. I took no action besides typing out the dream and analysis, sharing it with both my siblings, and talking about what it could mean. I’ve just read back the conversations between me and my brother and me and my sister from the date of when I sent them this typed out dream. It was an emotional flashback to a past chapter of our lives. But besides moving me emotionally it also brought back some things I had forgotten. Things that happened, things that were said. I’ll try and condense it. Some background needs to be included, so I’ll actually have to start with that. At the time of this dream my brother and I both had no contact with our parents. My sister still did. My sister has two daughters who have a grandmother and grandfather in the people that are our parents. The household we come from is a troubled one, especially during the last 10 years of us living there together, and especially more so in the years that followed once we moved out one by one. Of the many things that happened in the household, one thing stood out to me, and that was that no fights or arguments were ever resolved. We (the children) either had to accept blame and shame, or our parents would simply not bring it up again, and expected us to move on as if nothing ever happened. Guilt trips were a frequent occurrence in our family. It took me as long as coming into my early thirties to realise who had which role in this. My mother takes centre stage. She is a master manipulator. It is a harsh but accurate label.
At the time of this dream the world was in the starting stages of the “corona pandemic” and I think we had endured a lockdown. My brother was in China, where there had been strict lockdowns ever since the start of 2020. He had gone there with his Chinese girlfriend for the new years celebration, and because of these lockdowns they were unable to come back to The Netherlands all this time. About 5 years prior to this plandemic, I was the first to cease contact with our parents. My brother did so too about a year after I did. So during the time upwards to this dream we had both not had much if any contact with them for years. And that wasn’t due to lack of trying on their part. Despite my formal and peacefully worded request (I didn’t point the finger at them, but just stated I needed some time without them to figure things out) mostly my mother kept trying to find excuses to send me messages or call me. My brother too. Unbeknownst to me and my brother, we had both sent her a formal request, and even though both messages were sent about a year apart, we compared them after it came up in a conversation and we discovered we both took the same approach. The messages were very comparable in their tone and meaning.
But the efforts of mostly our mother continued, and they tried to contact us both many times, finding any excuse. “The dog is dying, we’re having a barbecue, you’re invited for Christmas.” I’m not saying it was all done with bad intention, but whenever it might’ve been genuine, it was so hard to tell because of all the manipulations, blame games, and guilt trips we had endured in our lives. But many attempted contacts were at least a bit tone deaf on her part. The text screen between me and my mother was a list of messages from her side alone, each message months apart, each one unanswered. But as our exile turned from months into years, the recollection of old memories in conversations between me and my siblings would slowly reveal what the nature of the conflicts in our family was. It became apparent that our mother was not at all the better of the two parents. It became increasingly clear how she was at the heart of almost every conflict, and how she had manipulated everyone into thinking she was the one who held the family together. The opposite was true. She was the one to cause a fire, then saved everyone from the flames, tending to their burns, and then taking each of those she saved privately into confidence on what role the others probably had in causing the fire. That is an oversimplified analogy for what actually transpired, and it also removes any blame from me and all other family members, so the picture is incomplete. But I make no bones about how I think this is a spot on metaphor for her conduct in our family and its history. She spun her web and we all got stuck in it.
Moving out of the house and shunning them was the only thing I could have done to get out of that web. I realised that afterwards. But at the time, I didn’t even understand how true this was, as by leaving I was doing something I now regret. Though it isn’t what I did but why I did it that I have come to regret it. I shunned them because I knew I was their favourite son, and removing myself from their lives I thought would have them come crawling back to me. It was a desire to shift the power balance in my favour. This power balance was the real problem in our family. There was a hierarchy, and that was very unhealthy. A few years later, before the dream you’ve read above, I realised what my desire was. This was me trying to become the spider in the web. By desiring this I still desired the web, and everyone in it. What I did was exactly what my parents had done our entire lives, which is to try and subjugate them through a guilt trip. I was trying to force them to admit blame and express shame. But this cannot be forced, if they don’t understand it. It took me years to realise that. But removing myself from the web did have an outcome I had not expected. I realised slowly how my motivations were a copy of the way they treated me and my siblings, but it also kept me out of that mind numbing web, that tires you to the point of mental exhaustion for all the drama that takes place in it.
Being out of the web I started to enjoy a kind of life I had not experienced before. I was free. I didn’t have to endure any drama. I now saw there was a life to choose that was free from the drama of the house in Amersfoort. The longer this continued, the more the emotional pain I was undoubtedly inflicting on mom and dad became an unwanted side effect. It took me years to find peace with that. I simply didn’t see any other way out of it. I still sometimes struggle with it. But let me try and stay with the chronology of the story I have in front of me now. So in the week that unfolded after the dream I went back and forth between telling my siblings I was going act on the dream, suggesting I would visit our parents. But then later decide not to visit them but to write a mail to mom, or not write a mail, to call her, or not do that. Sometimes I found the courage to do something, then later would chicken out again, and come back to it by finding reasons to do and not to. But interesting things happened. An aunt of ours – my dad’s older sister – got involved. It got some balls rolling, and more pieces fell into place. In the months leading up to this dream our mother had frequently attempted to contact me and my brother to tell us how bad our dad was doing health wise. I didn’t believe her, and it sounded to me like more manipulation from her to get me to go to that house for her to attempt to wheel me back into the web. I ignored her and played it off as being strong minded, but I was actually just afraid of her, of going back. Afraid of her manipulation skills. I never answered any of her messages. Not even the “happy birthday” ones. I just didn’t want to volunteer any information to her of what it did to me because she would be able to use it against me. Her cunning is exceptional.
After this dream my sister could confirm that dad was not doing well, and he indeed had some kind of seizure and had been admitted to the hospital, but at the time there was still this sliver of hope he would recover from whatever was going on. Which by the way we still do not know. But then my sister brought something to my attention that would set in motion what I think this dream was supposed to set in motion. My sister had said that our mom told her that dad had written 3 separate letters, 1 for each of his children, to be given to us after he dies. As my dad was unable to write at that time, my mother had written the letters for him. He was the one that cited the words, according to her. I read back in the conversation between me and my sister that both she and I were in doubt whether these letters were truly 100% his words. My brother would later learn about the letters and expressed the same concern. Would she not have entered her own malicious intent into these letters? After my sister had told me this 3 days after the dream, it slowly dawned on me. If my dad was to die sometime in the future – whenever this was – and these letters would be unearthed, and these letters were not his words, it would mean that she would actually try to use the voice of someone who cannot take those words back to spread her poison. She would misuse his voice, and speak her words of hate through the voice of our father.
That would break universal laws. I don’t think that is allowed. I became ever more convinced she had written the letters from all her hate, read them to him, pulling him into his own hate, and getting him to agree to the letters. And this is typical for how she operated. Often times during our childhood, she let him speak the words she wanted to say, just to later comfort us telling us how our dad was just a bitter man. But this time she would use this method to voice her grievances through a dead man. And those grievances would come from a mind tortured by unhealed pain from her youth. Her journey in life would see her consumed by anger. Anger projected at her own parents and siblings for their part in that pain, but also anger for her own part in it. But that anger is fuelled by an inner conflict. I am without doubt that my mother has a voice inside her head telling her she is to her own children what her mother is to her, but the pain of her youth is so great she doesn’t think she has the strength to hear that message. She pushes it away, and the only way she can is by stopping to self-reflect. This silenced the voice, but also allowed her to continue to grow into the malevolent person she has since become. This process was oil on an already hellish fire. It isn’t all she is. There is much more to her. In there is a loving mother somewhere. But her dark side dictated much of what she did, and is still doing.
My parents both come from families broken by conflict and blame games. My father lost his mother at the age of 7, in a time when the attitude of society in the wake of the second world war was to “just move on”. My aunt told me my dad was spoiled. That might be true. I was spoiled too. I can attest that being spoiled doesn’t mean not having any struggles, so I can confidently say he likely struggled plenty. It doesn’t excuse his behaviour to his children though. And my dad realised that near his end. In the months leading up to the dream above he was admitted to the hospital after having had some kind of epileptic seizure, and when my mother came to visit him he had said to her in a moment of clarity: “Wij zijn twee gebroken zielen, en wij hebben de pijn uit onze jeugd nooit verwerkt. En al dat leed hebben we over onze kinderen uitgestort.” This translates to: “We’re two broken souls, and we’ve both never processed the pains from our youths. And we poured all that misery and suffering over our children.” It seems to me that in his dying days my dad became ever more clairvoyant. The less he had to lose, the more honest he could be with himself. The letters I think my mother wrote with his hand would stain something in his name without his will. They had nothing to do with the enlightenment my dad was seeking in the last stages of his life. I’ve hinted at what would eventually happen a few times now. Yes, my dad would pass away. He did so exactly 9 days after the dream. But not before me choosing to accept the part I had to play through what the dream set in motion.
The Saturday after the dream, I conjured all my courage, and made plans to travel to Amersfoort. I told myself I would just go to my favourite part of the woods there, sit there in silence, and consult with whatever spirits dwell there who helped me in the years before when I had just moved out of the house. From there, it was an unknown to me what I would do. Maybe I would take a stroll through the forest, maybe I would go back home to my wife, or maybe, just maybe, I would visit my parents for the first time in years. So I took the train to Amersfoort. The travel time is about 1.5 hours. I went to my favourite bench in the forest. It was rainy and I had brought an umbrella. I was there only briefly. Within minutes I knew what I had to do. I needed to go there, and tell her about the dream. I think I took a bus, but that still left me with a good distance to walk to the bus stop, and after the bus ride to my exit stop would still leave me with something of a walk too. And you know what? It took me through the Willem III neighbourhood and through the street where the dream took place, past the Willem III flat. It exalted me and filled me with courage. I walked into my parents’ street, up to the house, walked onto a driveway I hadn’t set foot on in years, rang the doorbell, and waited. My heart pounded in my chest, but I knew why I was there. In the forest I had gotten the idea of just telling her I wanted to share with her a dream I had, and would afterwards confront her with what I think the dream was about. Through the stained glass I saw movement. The face of my mother appeared. Her eyes were wide open, and she was genuinely happy to see me. I too was moved. It was strange to see her after all these years. She had gotten visibly older since I last saw her.
The door opened, and she exclaimed my name, hugging me. “Hello mom.” I said. “We need to talk.” I could feel the old systems trying to get a hold of me, and she was somewhat nervous due to how I carried myself. I was completely peaceful, and also very confident. We sat down at the table in the kitchen. My sister turned out to be there too. I didn’t know she would be there, and it’s a good thing I didn’t cause I would’ve declined to go had I known. I wanted to do this alone. Afterwards I was glad that she was there, though, but she took no part in what happened next. She remained in the living room while I spoke to our mother. In the kitchen I detailed the dream you’ve read earlier, explaining it in detail. She listened to it with her eyes widening ever more the further into the dream I got. I was the storyteller and she was the audience. But I could see her zone out of it sometimes. She was there and not there. I think she was trying to figure out why I was there. Here is her son, who she hadn’t spoken to or even seen in years, and who had ignored all her desperate attempts to get a response, and now he travelled all the way from his home to this house to share a nightmare he had a few days ago? I think she was trying to figure it out. But I don’t think she did, cause when I finished the story, I told her about the aftermath, and my suspicions. This she didn’t see coming.
I told her about the feeling I had upon waking up. An inexplicable urge to call her and tell her to cease and desist what ever it was she was planning, and that I had no idea of what it was about. Her eyes were wide with shock. But then I told her I came to know about the three letters through my sister. I had memorised these lines as I had formulated them partially to my brother and sister in the days before. I just condensed those words, and detailed them to her: “Three letters, three explosions. Three events that shatter what we know and love, and leave it unrecognisable. We will all lose each other in the end.” Wide eyed she looked away to the left of me at the ground. “I think these letters bare his signature, but contain your words. I think these letters are your attempt to taint something through his voice that you have no right to taint. The existence of these letters are an insult to the integrity that resides in him, and are diametrically opposed to the enlightenment he now seeks. I think this dream was a message from the beyond which I was asked to relay to you, cause there is no one else you will listen to.” She made eye contact. “Should I ever receive such a letter after his passing, I will destroy it unread.” Her wide eyes stayed wide for a moment. Then they turned mad. And then anger came forth from her mouth.
But she didn’t even address the letters or the accusation. Instead she took on the role of the victim on how she was portrait in the dream. “So I’m a spider? I’m a volcano, now?” But it mattered not. It was blatantly obvious I had struck the bullseye. She was behind these letters. And not only must she have realised the moment she verbally attacked me that she had actually shown me her cards, she now also had to contest the idea there is a higher power looking over her shoulder who knows what she had planned to do, and who would intervene. She hadn’t fooled God. Best of it all was I had kept my cool, and let the attack slide off me. I don’t even know what I said but it eased her back to a calmer state. I told her I now wanted to see my dad. As I stood up, she started stating reasons why I couldn’t. He was weak, he was tired, can’t stay too long, I better come another day. I completely ignored her and went into the living room. The image shocked me a bit. All the stories I had heard in the messages which I had ignored turned out to be true. Dad was in bad shape. He laid on a hospital bed, and he could barely move. I had heard him make sounds while I was in the kitchen with mom, but now I saw what state he was in and those sounds now seemed to fit with the picture I saw. He was severely handicapped. Paralysed, apparently. He couldn’t even speak, and just laid there. And still there was a part of me that didn’t believe it yet. Some part of me thought he could be playing this. That’s how fucked up I was after all the manipulation this family had subjected each other to. But I was there, and I went to him.
I took his hands, and I noticed they still had strength in them. He was very tense though. I remember almost word for word what I said to him. I told him about the time he came to visit me during my self-imposed exile, and how I first was angry about how he ignored my wish to be left alone. But now a year or so later, I had grown to see it for what it was, that it was a father who was worried about his son. I told him that I will remember him like he was back then, and then I told him he is a being of light and love. As soon as I had said these words, he completely relaxed. All his tension left his body. I said: “Go to the light you so desperately seek. Find the peace you deserve. I will not forget you.” These were effectively my last words to him. I tried to get my brother on the phone to say his goodbyes, but he didn’t pick up. It wasn’t supposed to happen yet, I think. I turned to my mother, who was about 3 feet away from me, and extended my hand. She had looked at the two of us together with disbelieve. When she saw me extend my hand she pulled back both her arms towards her torso and exclaimed loudly: “WHAT IS THIS?!” I simply replied: “Goodbye mom.” and left. I forgot my umbrella, which I only later realised, cause as I walked out the sun was shining in a blue sky. I went to the forest again to thank the guides and to process all that had happened.
I cannot explain to you how this is possible considering all that you’ve read and all I said at that time, but it was still not evident to me how close my dad was to his death. I still thought somehow it would be a few months or even years before I would get that call. He died a few days after my visit, though thankfully not before my brother got a chance to call our mom and ask her to put the phone on speaker so he could talk to dad. I think if I hadn’t gone he might not have called, even though the dream world was also urging him to pick up the phone and dial the number. After I had come back from Amersfoort my brother asked me about his condition, which attests to how we both didn’t know how serious we had to take all the warning calls. My testimony might’ve helped him to find the courage to reach out. I’m glad he did, and I think it was this goodbye our dad was waiting for before he would let go of this life. Something that moves me still is that my dad was once born inside the house where he has lived his entire life, and he would die in a bed at the exact same spot of where the bed on which he was born stood, 70 years ago. It’s poetic. My brother wasn’t there for the funeral as he couldn’t get out of China still, something I suspect gnaws at him to this today.
The service was filmed, and he and his girlfriend followed it via livestream. He would come back to The Netherlands a few weeks later, and confronted our mother about something to do with the funeral, which I will share with you in this final anecdote to illustrate to you just how far I think my mother has fallen down into the spiritual trenches. My dad lost his mother at an early age. She would be buried in a grave owned by our grandfather. This grave could fit 2 more bodies, so 3 in total. When our grandfather died when I was 4.5 years of age, my dad inherited the grave, which from then on held the bodies of both his parents. During our childhood, whenever there was a date of importance coming up – a birthday or day of death of either, and occasionally sometimes just out of the blue – we would visit the grave site. In the back of our car sat a bag in the trunk with items to clean the stones of the grave. It was a common ritual for us. My dad kept the grave neat and clean, and would always tell us that if he were to die, he would be buried in that grave together with our grandparents. For his children it was common knowledge ever since we buried grandpa. That’s where dad will be buried when he dies. He missed his parents, and in a way I think for him wanting to be buried with his parents symbolised his desire to be reunited with them.
But when he died my mother had arranged a cremation, and she stated that this was his will. She stated that he had told her he didn’t want to be buried any more because his sons would not see him in life and so he had reasoned nobody would come to visit his grave anyway. At the time I took it with the usual grain of salt, but I realised afterwards I should’ve thought about that a little harder. At the time it actually sounded like his occasional crooked thinking, and I just found myself a bit angry at him for deciding this, cause this cannot be undone, and there are other people that would miss him besides just his sons. What about his wife? What about his daughter? What about his grandchildren? What about all the other people that might want to visit his grave? What if one of his sons would actually want to visit his grave just once? He decided this for everyone? But when his will was finally released weeks after the cremation it stated in clear and plain text he wanted to be buried. It was only then apparent to me what this was. His cremation was a blatant lie. This was my mother’s way taking ownership of him in death. If I want to visit the remains of my dad, I have to go to that house, where she keeps them for herself. My brother confronted her with this. I am confident that she will have to answer for all that she has done, and I think this one will weigh extra on her soul. If only that was all she can be blamed for. I fear she is irredeemable. But it isn’t up to me to judge her, and I struggle with that. Though my own work helps me plot my course. One last thing you should know: My mother has never again spoken about those letters to us. If they existed, they now vanished.
So much more has happened since. Looking back, going to the house armed with just a dream was the only way to get through to her, I think. Had I come with the accusation alone, we would have had a very different conversation. I didn’t even say much. I said just enough and all my responses were from the heart. The dream disarmed her. My mother is quick with her words and mostly always on her wits. But not this day. Listening to this dream, she lowered her guard, and when she realised it was about her, she didn’t have her shield up. My sister was there, and after being witness to me detailing that dream to our mom she herself had read a few days prior, and also witnessing my goodbye to our dad, she was also witness to the direct aftermath of me leaving. My mother had burst into a hysterical cry tantrum, trying to get my sister to side with her against me. My sister left shortly after, refusing to take part in her new game. Her presence there means my mother can never twist my words or give false testimony to my demeanour or intentions. I came to honestly say what I thought she was doing, to tell her I believe she will have to answer for it, that I will not fall for her scheme, and to say goodbye to my dying father. In the weeks and months after the funeral I had minor contact with my mother. We’ve been on the phone a few times, but it died out. She was a grieving widow, but I could also feel her pull to try and get me into her systems again. I didn’t want that. Funnily enough she didn’t take any of the COVID jabs, and didn’t believe the narrative. Good for her, I suppose. Maybe it is no surprise a conman will easily see through the cons of another conman. What I think helped me greatly to see the schemes and deceit of the globalists was living in a household with this mother, growing up with her games. Manipulation has a distinct taste to it. It is very faint, but once you recognise it, you will taste this flavour whenever it is present.
In that regard, I am glad to have experienced it, and I do not mean that unironically. I do not see myself as a victim. I am who I am because of all that happened, not despite of it. Even though I have my own grievances about the past, I am very aware of how this journey shaped the person I am today. I am happy to have grown to be aware of myself, and I am not under any illusions I have reached my peak or am even nearing it. I look forward to the continuation of my spiritual journey and am thankful I was allowed to experience what I have experienced, though, the past remains a scar that sometimes hurts. I have no room in my life for my mother any more. It’s sad I take away her oldest son from her, and I miss having a mother in my life, but the side of her I wish to part from comes with the whole package. The dark side of her is bad for me, and it is ever present in all she does. The price is too high. But like I said earlier; as time progressed I no longer feel like wanting to punish her. I just don’t want the drama she has made her companion. Her presence in my life has subsided now. She occupies my mind less and less. I wish her well, and predict we will never physically meet again. It’s better that way. But my brother has come back to her, left his girlfriend of 10+ years, got back with an ex, and now even lives with our mother in the old house again. At the same time my brother has also shunned me completely out of his life.
At first I struggled with this, but found peace in it eventually. This was God showing me a mirror. I now had to endure what I exposed my parents to for years. If I were to attempt to contact him against his wishes, I would be no better than my own parents. And thus, I accepted his choice. Though he has never formally expressed this will, his intentions were clear when he did not answer a message of me asking him to try and settle things, twice. We had an altercation via app message the day before, after I detailed a dream to him where I was an Angel of Death who was collecting the souls of bad people, and I was collecting people like our mother. He got angry with me, and I didn’t understand why. Fast forward to today and I have my ideas about it now. It was explained to me in a dream, which will possibly be translated into this journal. But I will keep it separated before I overshare. I’m sure that my mother had a role to play in whatever happened between me and my brother, and all will come to light. Of that I am absolutely sure. But this family is something I have opted out of, and I think that means I no longer have a role to play in it all. The contact between me and my sister has grown into something new, but if the dream is accurate, that contact will not last. I hope that part can be averted, though, or maybe I am misinterpreting it and this new relation is separate from the old that died. Looking back I think this was all supposed to happen. Had I still had contact with my brother he might’ve influenced this work, as before our breakup (for lack of a better word) I would frequently discuss my writings with him and take his input. This work needed to be mine, and after he shunned me I wrote the bulk of it.
Though I intended to honour his decision to have no contact with me I have broken it twice over a period of 3 years. My website was located on his web server; a courtesy in return for me having hosted his website for years back when I had a web server and he didn’t. Every year the domain of this site had to be renewed. It would automatically deduct the money from his account balance. Just before we “broke up” it was renewed for one year. After one year my website was suddenly gone. As I was not too disciplined with my backups back then it meant I had lost most of my work. Desperately I contacted him and plead to him, asking what happened to the website and if he was able to restore it. What happened was that the domain had expired and he had let it happen; something I suspect he did in ill faith. I hadn’t contacted him before the expiration because I did not want to disrespect his wishes, and thought to myself he would either break his silence and ask me for the money, or would accept the consequence of his choice not to want to contact me, which meant he had to pick up the bill himself. It was only about 15 dollars or so. He stated he was under the impression I no longer worked on the website. Had he taken 30 seconds out of his life he could’ve seen this site had recent edits. I can still feel quite a bit of anger on my side for his actions, but perhaps I am reading too much into it and perhaps his action was not out of malice but at worst disinterest with unintended negligence. And honestly I could also just have forwarded him the money without saying anything, but he could easily have missed that too, so that would just be attempting to further shift the blame by making it more complicated. I could’ve messaged him, of course. I did so after, so why not before it happened? I don’t know. I just thought to myself how I would deal with that and assumed he would handle it the same way. I have to learn to let this go. It is water under the bridge now. He restored it, and the website was renewed for two years. Later I would contact him again for the renewal (I didn’t want a repeat of the above again) and he replied he wanted to part from my website, and so helped me set up my own web server and helped me move the site. The solution is more important than the problem. I’m thankful of him for his help and happy this site is now where it is today. I wish him well, too.
But besides the metaphors of this dream on my own life (and I have left many out because of what I said earlier, but perhaps you can find those metaphors yourself), there are perhaps more metaphors to find in it that apply to our shared world. And I found a few. Me walking around warning people of what is about to happen, and few taking it seriously, well, that needs no explaining. Though perhaps it is hopeful I eventually seemed to be succeeding in convincing a large group of people near me of what was coming. Though what eventually came was followed by much worse things. When those things happened, there was no denying it, but even I was not ready to be confronted by the reality that was unfolding as it unfolded.
Besides the metaphors of the letters, I think the eruptions could also stand for 3 major events in the world that will have devastating effects on our livelihoods. If you think about it, there were actually 4 explosions. The events started with me noticing the cloud of an explosion that had already occurred, but which was barely noticed by anyone and which had not done any damage to me personally or anyone directly around me. From this explosion came 3 new explosions that did. Looking at the world events, I think the Mexican swine flue “pandemic” was that actual first explosion. The first attempt of this elitist system to kick start their machine and trigger a deadly stampede amongst the herd. The next explosion was the COVID-19 pandemic. If that is so, we have some truly horrifying sagas ahead of us, though if you’ve been reading the scrolls, this isn’t news to you. But I’ve predicted so much more than just two more events in the scrolls. Perhaps two is all they need, or they won’t get past two events? Or perhaps only two events will actually succeed in dealing the damage? I cannot answer any of these questions. I just hope to be wrong. But my dreams have never been meaningless. Even now reading back old dreams I still discover predictions about my personal live that came true.
The dreams and warnings prompted me to create this page on my website. It remains otherwise unlisted, and I intend to keep it that way. In the months after this dream I dreamt more things which set me on a path to learn survival skills, and gather things needed to survive in a long lasting grid down situation. I’ve prepared for the worst. I’m as ready as I will ever be to face what is to come here, though it is a deep desire of me to get out of The Netherlands, and go live off grid. If I succeed my cache will be the treasure of those who survive the last eruption and find it. May it serve them well.
