Through numerous stages of waking and sleeping, my last dream felt something more than just a dream.
I was in a small library room, one side leading out into the larger reading hall. In the room were eight communal cedar tables, bookshelves that covered floor to ceiling, filled with archives. I stood on a bookshelf ladder, eavesdropping on various conversations as I scrolled across a bookshelf. Near me were two deceased presidents of the United States. I couldn’t make out their identities completely, but it was either Monroe and Madison, or Van Buren and Harrison. They were discussing issues with the Cabinet and the upcoming meeting, unaware of their deaths. I stood on the ladder in fear that the ground would entrap me and release me back to my waking state (and then I was fully aware I was dreaming).
I blinked and then suddenly I was sitting at one of the cedar tables, speaking to a friend I know. He knew I was dreaming, and I knew that he was from the past. I then wondered if I could take a relic back to the real world in attempt to utilize my dreams as a medium to obtain information. I asked him, “do you have something you’ve written in the real world so I may take back and confirm with the present you?” He handed me a sheet of looseleaf with a poem. I began to read it, but suddenly my eyesight was fading, and I struggled to remember a sentence. I told him I will be back to confirm, and then I awoke.
Unfortunately I did not remember the contents. But now I long to return there.