PROPHETIC DREAM: "MARKED"

Dream: “Marked”

April 25, 2018

3:20AM

I dreamed that I was rearranging throw rugs in this very messy closet. It had elongated itself, and I was placing a hall-runner type rug that was just in the bedroom, because I had straightened up the closet, and it was looking pretty nice in there. Something like a small vehicle was coming through the room. Suddenly, a contaminate had infected the population. Although they were calling it a contagion, there was no way to contract the disease by touching the remnant tattoos or coming anywhere near them. In other words, the supernatural appearance of the tattoos could not be transmitted to another person. We were being marked, and some of us had been marked by these beautiful and very vibrantly colored Egyptian tattoos in places that could not be hidden-like on our faces and necks and hands. The infection looked like a crystalized spider web on some, or clear hardened thin gelatin crust that would peel away and leave the tattoos. Other people just peeled their skin away like an old sunburn, and the tattoos would appear there.

The military was working with the police. They were rounding us infected people up. I tried to escape, but they soon caught me. There were soldiers with dogs, like Nazis, marching toward me. I had dove behind these dried grassy Knowles, but it wasn’t a very good hiding place, and one of the soldiers had let go of one of the German shepherd dogs. It was coming right at me. I closed my eyes and it came to me, and it was sniffing me. I tried to remain still, but it had given me away. There were soldiers everywhere, and police, and processing workers everywhere. There was no escape. I heard that they were just shooting us in the head, and stockpiling our corpses in dumpsters.

I looked at an infected girl who had an Eye of Horus tattoo appear right in the middle of her forehead. I thought to myself… “They are probably going to just aim for the retina and shoot!” I was talking with one of the processing personnel. She was a black woman. She and several other workers were trying to get me to sign something. I think it was my name in a book, before they took me away to be shot. I began to cry at the processing table. It was one of those 12’ fold out tables you would buy as an office supply store. I asked her if they had an injection I could have instead, because I have a phobia or a superstitious belief about having any of my bones broken…call it a preference. She said “no.” She told me that my only option was to be shot in the head. I started to quietly cry in front of her. She now changed into a white woman in her sixties, and she was complaining that both I, and some eight-year old little girl about forty-feet away were crying. I began to explain to her that I would take my revenge with the unknown authors of our miraculous markings out on her and out on EVERYONE ELSE who was involved in our destruction! I was quietly crying as I told her this. I don’t think she really cared. I don’t think she believed me.