When I was about 11, I had a non-lucid dream that lasted 40 years.
In it, I was on the edge of a cliff. My mther & brother were with me. I lost my footing and fell off the cliff, and hit the side of the cliff instead of the sea. I died immediately.
I stand at a gate. [Because it was more than a while ago now, I cannot recall it all, and besides, I doubt you would be happy if I wrote 40 years of small details. ] It is heaven, and I am dead. I think I am dead for real, yet I have no fear.
Upon entering heaven, I am given a guided tour by one of the staff. It is a small land of rolling grassy plains and small hills. It is like a cross between the default Windows XP desktop and Teletubbie-land, if you know what I mean. All the people are children, and it seems the leading pastime in heaven is rolling down these hills. I try it and it is fun.
Down in the south of the land is a small town very much like medieval England. In the middle of the town is a modest church - The Church of St. John. Over the next few months, I establish a great friendship with St. John (he is a child also). I help out at the Church, sometimes giving services and handing out the bread and wine, so on. Every day, all the people of heaven, save Jesus or God (both of whom I never saw), come to the church. There are only about 35 of us altogether, and hence I know everyone by name (I can only recall St. John’s name now). As far as I can recall, the sun never set, but I could be wrong.
Anyway, one day at the gate, which had two one-story buildings surrounding it, my brother entered. I greeted him, and said, ‘I have waited 40 years for you.’
I wake up, feeling quite dissapointed that I wasn’t really in heaven. Only a few hours later dd the huge scale of my experience hit me.
