'Bl. Almendras'

I had a dream at early dawn. There was a tower-like structure where in the middle was an inscription that reads "Bl. Almendras" or "Blessed Almendras." Almendras is a local political name. A little higher than the inscription was a man walking on a platform. The inscription was his name or as he was fondly called. He was admired. Even my nephew told me he is good and kind. But the Lord let me feel who he is. He was satan. I faced him and he faced me. I took my rosary and said it; he took a rosary and said it. But when I shouted that the Blood of Christ was shed for me, he could not say it himself, he could not repeat my declaration. And I woke up. -Diary, November 17, 2008, 11:50 p.m.

Explosion at the park

The dream is in the night. I saw men in black fitting suits rappelling in a certain structure -- the structure looked familiar. By their actions and movements, these men looked like experts. They seemed to be well-trained "soldiers." I was below this structure looking at their adeptness. Next scene: I saw myself standing in the center of the pavement -- a spacious pavement and it looked familiar even though the landmarks were excluded in this scene. All of a sudden, below the place I was standing on, something blew up. It seemed to be a bomb. I was alive and still standing; but those around me fell dead. I only felt the wind of the explosion under my feet. I woke up and I remember this verse: "A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand; but nothing shall befall you." -Psalm 91:7. The structure seemed to be the current appearance of the stage; the pavement, the park. May the reader understand.

Lost and found

You lost a sacred thing of long ago; but one night, you had a dream. You saw a white something.

Was it a cloud — or a smoke? No human form, it was. And yet, it spoke and it gave something back to you. 

“Friends again?” it said as it returned the thing you lost, the thing that is yours — the rosary of old. And you awoke. 

Was it the Lady — or the Virgin? The “white something” was more of a soul, the soul of somebody who took the thing from you — the mother of mine. 

The rosary? The father of mine. The marriage of yours. 

Many times had you gone to look for it; but many times had you failed. And when you learned to let go, only then that it found you. 

(To stepmother)