I ran down the old Roman street so fast that my body began lifting off the road, and again I was flying. When I let go of the loss I felt for my life there and my husband I was sucked back into the light portal. I felt the colors cleansing me of pain left behind from Rome. I didn’t see the pain as details, but I felt it lifting. Pressure lifted from my head and limbs. I felt a sensation like being sucked through a vacuum.
And I was dropped into what looked like a shower, with blood all over the white curtains. It was my blood. I sat on the floor staring at my blood, knowing that my life was dripping from me — and flashes of people and experiences raced through my mind. My nephew came into the room to clean up some of the blood and report back to the killers, “no, she’s just faking it. she’s not really hurt.” They sent him in to clean up the mess of the stabbing — telling him that I must’ve slipped and fallen. He didn’t notice the hole in my chest. My husband appeared for a moment and he seemed to be arguing about the unfairness of how they were treating the dying me. He wanted blankets and warm water for me. I was shivering.
I had visions of ex-best-friends, ex-boyfriends and their mothers, family members and in-laws. I was drowsy. An old friend would appear in front of me, and I would ask for help only to realize they never really wanted to be my friend in the first place. An ex boyfriend’s mother appeared to help warm me up, as I was getting so cold. And, she made a remark about how happy she was that her son did not wind up with me. In an attempt to find some peace of mind before my last breath, I telepathically contacted my first-ever best friend. She told me that she had far better friends than me, and named them one by one.
I began to mentally understand the point that I was really dying and had been killed by a family member who just couldn’t accept my power anymore. I had many supernatural powers. So, I allowed my mind to take me someplace fun.
I found a red tricycle near the house of my first-ever best friend. I got on it and rode it like the wind. Yes, I had an adult body, but it was my child body that was riding the tricycle. I rode and rode laughing happily as passersby gawked at my old-fashioned Roman clothes. Some saw me as a non-sensical child, some saw me as a witch, some saw me as deranged. Two men who spent some extra time ridiculing me obviously saw me as all of these things and also very threatening. They whispered that I was very educated and powerful but that I didn’t know it. They had convinced the neighborhood that I was insane, and my little act of tricycle-riding would completely support that notion. So they laughed, and felt very accomplished.
I just kept riding, reading the minds and the intentions of everyone around me. I felt a deep scar from all of the times I tried to make these people my friends. I still didn’t understand the reasons behind their crimes toward me and a lot of me still wanted to look for those reasons. I was deeply emotionally wounded, and with each push of the pedal, I forced out the laughter that was underneath and it felt exhilarating.
Then there was Jesus. He told me with his mind that he was with me all along. “Keep riding,” he said. I rode and rode in spiral circles of light, feeling my heart warm up with his embrace.
And, I awoke.