During the early evening of Christmas Day, 2019, I fell into an exhausted sleep upon my bed. I slept deeply for about five hours. My dreams (the ones I recall, that is) were lucid and of a varying nature; they were strung together in a loose, illogical sense. I only vaguely remember them now, five hours later.

The purpose of this text is to capture, before the memory of my inner feeling fades away, one particular moment within my dream, which occurred at the end. Upon waking, disoriented and touched by a certain melancholy peculiar to daytime departures into sleep and dreaming, I immediately told my wife the “amazing dream” I’d just had. “It was kind of like we went to Heaven, but not like we had died. More like we suddenly became angels” was the general idea I presented to her.

Following is a summary of that which I have already begun to forget:

There was a great vast lake surrounded by rolling hills. Somewhat like the dales of Yorkshire, England I am familiar with - only greener. The surface of the lake, as in any well-framed photograph one might find on a postcard, was like a mirror to the heavens. For some reason, my mother drove me down to this lake. One moment I was in the passenger seat beside her; next moment, an invisible force swept me down towards the shore at a most fantastic speed. Planted there, where the land met the water, a kind of ramp was placed, positioned to launch me out over the lake. However, hitting this with great speed, I shot into the air – freely, rapidly, surging ever upwards ... higher, higher ... the earth receding beneath me. My mother stood by the car, just a small figure diminishing with distance.

I should state that, unlike most dreams of this nature, I was not fearful despite my rapid flight, the yawning heights to which I climbed. Somehow I knew I was protected, that I would not ever come back down but would only proceed upwards. The emotions I was feeling defy succinct definition. To attempt though, I was enveloped with the purest joy, a most radiant sense of fulfilment. I was entirely free of anxiety, untethered to any worldly concerns save that of a faint sadness at leaving my mother behind.

These pleasing sensations were then exemplified by an outward transformation of my body. Almost like a plume of peacock feathers, I suddenly erupted with the most vivid colours. I became, to my mind, something like a firework, only silent. Instead of sparks or light, I emanated a transcendent array of what can only be described as alien colours. I trailed centilions of the most beautiful flower petals. My brain – even in the dream – could do no better than identify this impossible chroma as existing somewhere between - and far beyond - green and yellow.

Thus soaring into the sky, my wife - who suddenly was with my mother – likewise flew into the sky, following me to space. She too exuded brilliant colour – those flowing petals of unimaginable beauty. I also noticed – far below me – that another two emitters of colour were following us. These, I knew within my heart, were angels. The four of us, like shooting stars, shot ever upwards. Now, disappearing into clouds, I was taken over by a deep, profoundly moving sensation of happiness, of wordless realization, of knowledge of the true perfection of God and of Heaven, something without name or concept. And the only regret I felt, looking back towards the distant Earth once more, was that my mother, who had always been there for me, was not able to take part in this majestic union herself. Not yet.