The Inexplicable World of Native American Dreams
The spirituality of many Native Americans is based on multi-dimensional experiences that cannot today be explained by science or distilled into Old World-style religious dogma. I have had more than my share of those strange, beautiful visions.
Monday, I retained a respected civil rights lawyer and former police detective to permanently stop the endless schemes of Neo-NAZI Cretans, who want to drag me down to their miserable, perverted world . . . to force me to be on “their side.” We had not seen each other since we were 28. At the time, I was a deacon at Peachtree Christian Church and he was a police detective in the daytime, while going to Georgia State University at night to get a masters in Psychology, so he could become a family counselor. I was making the equivalent today of $150,000 a year. That was the period when Jimmy Carter introduced me to Senator Joe Biden as “a future governor of Georgia and maybe even president, someday.” Indeed, Dave joked that “when you and [my ex-wife] moved away from Atlanta, Joyce [his wife] and I joked that the next time, we met you, we would address you as “Mr. Senator.”
Dave was shocked that I had not re-married and had many children. I tried to explain the whole bizarre story of my EX. While pretending to be an extreme fundamentalist, Bible-banger, she was actually in a “sisterhood”/“bisexual” cult, which she claimed also included Hillary Clinton, as one of its high priestesses . . . which would explain why a very likable Bill Clinton was constantly seeking nurture from other women. While we were separated, my wife’s psychologist in Virginia was required by state law to inform me that she had many abortions, while we were married, but had a child out of wedlock, three years before we met.
Unknown to us back then, several of the other women in our Sunday School class at Peachtree Christian were also in that same cult. One seduced the minister’s wife and ran off with her, just before we moved away! That cult does not allow those women to speak to me now. Even though we were supposedly lifelong friends, when I called them upon returning to Georgia, they literally put down the phone without speaking and called their husbands to talk to me. <yes, very weird . . . I told you that the USA had gone insane.>
Although he had eventually switched his career goal to being an attorney, Dave was still interested in psychology and sociology. This actually is useful to him as attorney. He is Caucasian, but most of his clients now are Latin American immigrants or the children of Latin American immigrants. He got into that specialty because Joyce is a Spanish teacher and taught him Spanish. In return, I tried again to explain some of the many inexplicable experiences in my life that made it so different today.
Pure evil is at the heart of American governance today. In 1999 and 2000, a beautiful Dutch lady, who was Minister of the Department of Culture for the Netherlands Antilles, began courting me 24/7. We never met and she only at the end admitted how she even knew I existed. She constantly sent me gifts and invited me to rendezvous with her at exotic places around the Americas and Europe. She wanted me to come live with her for a trial period in Curacao. She seemed not to understand that I did not have the money to dart around the world or abandon my architecture practice for a passionate fling in the Caribbean Basin. Only at the end, did she finally understand that I was not an independently wealthy, jet-setter as she had been led to believe. She said that the US Department of Defense had given her government a huge sum of money with the stipulation that she get me to move in with her in Curacao. You go figure?
Almost immediately after that revelation in September 2000, Georgia law enforcement and bureaucrats adopted as their prime objective to keep me from having a girlfriend and wife, unless she was a rightwing extremist, unable to have children. Hundreds of thousands of dollars (at least) of Georgia taxpayers’ money has been spent on that demonic quest, but we will get on to the feature show . . . Native American dreams.
Dave was fascinated with my experiences, while being homeless or the six-year period in Lumpkin County, GA when I was treated as a social outcast by locals, while being on international TV programs and communicating with such prominent people as HRH Prince Charles. He couldn’t understand how I kept my sanity, while being socially isolated and having no woman in my life. He remembered me as being extroverted and a community leader.
My response was dreams . . . vivid Native American dreams. He was astounded and wanted to learn more, but was scheduled for another client to walk in at any moment. So, here is my explanation to Dave the Police Detective turned Civil Rights Attorney.
The technicolor world of Native American dreams
There are several types of Native American dreams, which may or may not be experiences by people of a particular tribe. In contrast to the experiences of many people of European ancestry, Native American dreams are in “Living Color” and highly detailed. Thus, the vast majority of Native American dreams could more properly be labeled “visions,” since they are remembered in full after the person awakes.
Psychedelic Dreams: Many indigenous Americans have supernatural dreams, involving talking animals, trees or rocks, unrealistic colors, scenes that break the laws of physics . . . things that one might see while on LSD, etc. That type of dream is rare for my particular Native heritage, however.
Grandparent Spirits: A type of dream that is shared by most indigenous American peoples involves grandfather or grandmother spirits, who come to educate you or warn you. These spirits may not be your actual grandmother or grandfather, but someone farther back in time. Grandparent spirits will NEVER urge you to harm another human being. More likely is to warn you of eminent danger or to teach you a new skill.
Time Travel: Many Native Americans travel back into time, often accompanied by Grandparent Spirits. I do this often. It is why I know what many of our ancestral Creek towns looked like. Generally, I don’t create a virtual reality computer model until I have traveled back in my dreams to visit the town.
Dearly Departed Dreams: It is quite common for Native Americans to be visited by departed love ones. These visits are most common, immediately after their death, but also can occur much later. These are different than grandparent dreams, because the visitor just carries on a pleasant conversation as if they stopped by to have a cup of tea with you.
Déjà Vu Dreams: It is quite common for Native Americans to have dreams, where they return to some place and time in the past, when they were particularly happy.
Demonic Dreams: These are most common among future medicine women and Keepers (priests) who are attacked by demonic spirits in their sleep, in an attempt to block their journey on the Spiritual Path.
God’s Final Warning Dreams: When a person is about to step from a righteous life to the bosom of Satan, the Master of Life (God) will often warn them with a horrific nightmare. For example, a former girlfriend, who I assumed would soon be my wife, dumped me for a guy, who became extremely wealthy selling marijuana from his motorboat on Lake Allatoona, GA. Just before she made the jump, the lady repeated complained of having nightmares, where her body was surrounded by flames.
Long term relationships in the night
I can only speak for Uchees, Creeks and Seminoles, because that is my heritage, but at least, in our case, it is not uncommon to have dreams that come true. Most of us don’t have frequent dreams, at least those that we remember the next morning. However, when we do have dreams, they are so vivid and realistic that they seem real. This section is somewhat rated PG, but there is no other way to explain what has really transpired. Here is an example of my most recent vision from night before last.
“I woke up to see an attractive young woman, seated next to me on the bed. She was rubbing my head and smiling sweetly. I quickly realized that she was an adult, but not much older than that and she was not wearing very much clothing. She was much younger that the women I normally “dated” in my sleep. In public, such physical contact would be scandalous, unless the man is a multi-millionaire then it is okay. I repeatedly told her that I was much older than her and she shouldn’t be in my bedroom. She smiled sweetly and said that it was alright, she wanted to be there. Finally, I said, “Don’t you find me repulsive? You are a pretty young lady and I am an ogre.”
She laughed and responded, “Silly Richard, don’t you realize that I am an angel? I can be any age, you want me to be, but this is what I looked like a few days ago when I died. In real life, I always dreamed of meeting you after seeing you on television. I fantasized about being your girlfriend, but assumed that you already had one. I even planned to study archaeology so I could work along side you . . . but someone killed me. God sent me to you to comfort you. I have many questions about your discoveries. Can you answer them?”
We chatted for hours about the ruins in Mexico, North Georgia and Sweden. Suddenly, she smiled and said, “Enough! Angels have their dreams too.” With both hands, she grabbed my right wrist, raised my arm and pressed my hand against her breast. Suddenly, one of my dogs started barking. I woke up to see my hand up in the air, cupped around air!
During the past decade, I have had serial dream relationships with many “spirit women,” Most dreams just consisted of going out on dates with them . . . some hand holding, kissing and snuggling, but most not worthy of a porno movie. While it was 10 degrees outside of my tent in the Smoky Mountains, I would go walking on the beach and dining at seafood restaurants with a Seminole spirit girlfriend. Then I went though a period, dating a Swedish spirit girlfriend. She liked to canoe, hike, snuggle by campfires and eat at barbecue restaurants. I have not been allowed by the police to dance with a woman since Fall of 2000. Yet in my dreams, I had several girlfriends who liked to go to the disco. We would dance the night away. Most of the time, the spirit girlfriends would eventually admit that they had died and gone to heaven. I often would wake up in the morning with my arms around the woman, who wasn’t there.
The last long-term dream dating relationship began in late December of 2016 and continued until early 2018. This one was different in that it was with Anita Guffin – not a stranger from the spirit world. She was a friend in high school and an occasional date, when both of us were home from college. She moved up north to work as an anesthesiologist and so I lost track of her. I thought that going on involuntary dream dates was strange and assumed that she had been happily married for decades. Thus, we were committing dream adultery. Most of the dates were just doing things together, however. Meanwhile, I would wake up in the morning with rat poop on my bed cover!
On our last date in January 2018, we went together to the grand ball at the Governor’s Mansion, like our last date so many years ago. She was the belle of the ball once again. Like in a scene in the movie, “Titanic”, we waltzed alone in the center of the ballroom as people applauded. Then she danced with Jimmy, while I danced with Miss Roselyn. At the end of the ball, instead, this time she kissed me and said, “Richard, it is time for me to go. Those evil people will not win. In God’s time, you will meet the love of your life. You already have many children that no one knows about. Goodbye my good friend.”
After moving to my present rat-free cottage in the Nacoochee Valley, I looked up Anita Vivian Guffin on the internet, to see where she now lived and if she was married. It turns out that she had moved back to the Atlanta suburbs the same time that I did. For about three years, we were both single and lived very close to each other in Roswell, but I went to the Methodist church and she went to the Presbyterian church across the street. We might have even seen each other at a distance, but not expected to see each other. Anita Vivian Guffin died of complications associated with Multiple Sclerosis on December 16, 2016 a few days before she entered my dreams. The truth is stranger than fiction.
Predicting the future
The Valley: There have been many other dreams, which I remember, but two were particularly important to my professional career. During the summer that I turned 18, I repeatedly had this vision: I had never been west of Birmingham, AL but found myself somewhere out west on flat, arid valley, surrounded by mountains. I soon would start climbing a mountain shaped like a giant Indian mound. Its slopes were covered with volcanic rocks and desert type vegetation. At the top, I would meet a Mexican Indian in the traditional white, campesino clothing. He was surrounded by goats. He pointed with his right hand the way I was to go. I soon passed through gateway formed by two massive vertical rocks. I then beheld a beautiful, lush, green mountaintop valley, with herds of fat sheep and cattle grazing. That vision came through in every detail, the summer I turned 21. The valley’s name was Teotihuacan.
Maya clay: In early November 2001, an employee of the newly formed Homeland Security Agency contacted all of my clients and told them that I was an agent for Al Qaida and probably connected with the attack on the World Trade Center. Nobody believed them, but everyone was afraid of the Bush Administration. All seven of the cities, where I was their planning and historic preservation consultant, immediately cancelled their contracts.
For the next seven months, I had no professional income. To keep my sanity, I began making simple Creek bowls and pots for Christmas gifts from raw clay along the stream in the back of my yard. Since my days at Georgia Tech, when I had to take ceramic engineering, arts and history before going to Mexico, I done this. Nothing was very fancy.
Then one of my ancestors appeared in my dreams. He was a High King. Night by night, he taught me the intricate skills necessary to make the most sophisticated forms of Maya pottery and statuary. When that course was finished, he then taught me how to build a sophisticated wood-burning kiln, from the clay and rocks in my back yard. I had virtually no money so I couldn’t buy clay or pay for someone to fire the ceramics.
By late March I was making several hundred dollars a weekend at Native American arts festivals. In September, I made over $2400 at the Ocmulgee Native American Festival. I also met lots of very attractive Native American women, mostly between ages 22 and 35, who wanted to hang out with me both during the festival and at night in my campsite. The only problem was that almost all of them smoked pot. I had to be really careful about them leaving their marijuana or their doobie cigars in my car.
Standing out in the hot Georgia sun about 50 feet away with their coats and ties on, the federal and state cops were furious. These women were of ideal reproductive age and political progressives. The gals met me face to face at the booths and decided for themselves if they wanted to get to know me better. The GBI agents just couldn’t walk up to the women and say, “Our Lord Satan and his Most True Prophet, Adolf Hitler . . . blessed be his Name, forbid you to make out with this man!” However, this is also when they decided to label me a homosexual and pedophile . . . thinking that if they told a lie enough times, it would come true. Besides Real Men don’t know how to fabricate and fire sophisticated Maya statuary. During the period between 2002 and 2006 on festival weekends, I had more social life with women than anytime in my life. Meanwhile, while at home, I never had a date with any woman in Pickens County, the whole 9 ½ years I lived there. The deputies and state police had so thoroughly spread the lie that I was homosexual and that all the buildings that I had designed, had fallen down, the “eligible” women were afraid, thinking that they might get AIDS from talking with me . . . or worse still, turn into a slim-waisted Librul.
I don’t think that we really understand either life or death at this time. Native Americans are far ahead on the path to understanding this universe, but there is much we still don’t understand. Souls of dead women, coming to life in the dream world just can’t be explained within our restricted realm of knowledge. There is absolutely no doubt, though, that I had NEVER been taught how to make Maya statuary and was taught skills that are never mentioned in archaeology books or websites. Yes, the truth is out there somewhere!
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