August 20, 2012: This the second dream I feel pressed to share that I mentioned in my last post from today. Beloved! This dream isn't about me. It's a warning to the territorial and crafting Bride. Watch out, Beloved. Bear witness wisely, for the Christ is coming and He is looking for those who have not taken His name for vanity's sake and personal gain.
Dated December, 2011:
I was in the vestibule/front glassed foyer of a large school. At first I thought it was a college or something of higher education, but in hindsight I feel it more as an elementary or middle school. It was well kept, but empty and void of anyone inside. It didn't have a soul; it was merely a carcass of a building - hope on the outside but empty at its core. The school was clearly in the US, and adjoined - as in located right next to - Africa. The vestibule was floor to ceiling glass, with doors at the front, which looked out onto an empty parking lot, and to the side, which looked out onto a side driveway, like a pick-up line for school children. Not seeing anyone inside, I felt really urged to go outside.
I started for the parking lot, but didn't sense that was the right direction, so I turned and went out the side door. Next to me coming by like a parade was a caravan of ordinary people being carried along by Africans. The people were sitting on those things reserved for royalty - platforms with handles on 4 sides that are carried by four Africans on their shoulders. The Africans looked vacant in their eyes, but still determined to carry these people into their country by the directing of a man standing at the front of the line. The Africans were dressed minimally, in rags, with bare feet. The ordinary people were dressed normally, too, and most of them looked like they were confused - with big deer eyes- like they were being carried against their inner will, but they were allowing it. They looked like they were almost in a trance.
There was a pastor standing at the front of the line, dressed head to toe in fine silks, with a colorful robe, sash and silk rope around his waist. When I came up to the front of the line to try to get information, the pastor turned his back away from me. He began painting a canvas using a feather in one hand, and with the other hand, he held a mirror and was looking at himself. I could tell by watching him paint that he really didn't know how to do it - that he was dipping into every color, loading up the feather, and swiping it haphazardly all over the canvas. The colors were pretty, but it didn't have a pleasant or peaceful feel to it. The pastor examined the canvas and was very pleased with himself.
The caravan was still moving between us. I kept trying to get his attention to tell him I needed to go to Africa to talk to the people I was supposed to meet, but he kept waiving me off with his hand, ignoring me. I was jumping up over the caravan, insistent in telling him these people were expecting me and I had to get there, but I didn't know where they were and I knew he did. He wouldn't even look in my direction. At that point I realized that I was not going to get the help I needed, and I started to walk away. I turned back to look, and I knew this pastor knew I was there and he was snubbing me on purpose. The Holy Spirit boomed in my ear and said this phrase: "CARRIED ON THE BACKS OF THE NATIVES".
I went back into the vestibule and as soon as I made it inside, a robust older man with whitish hair grabbed both of my hands firmly and stopped me just as I was about to leave and walk out into the parking lot. Still having my hands in his, he danced us both around in a circle. He seemed happy, yet very firm and serious. He asked twice, "Don't you know who I am? Don't you know who I am?" And I said, "No, I don't". He replied, stopping all of a sudden "I'm (x - purposely omitted here). You don't need them (looking toward the pastor). You will be bypassing all of that. The right people will take you into places. Do not worry". I looked into his eyes intently for a moment not saying anything, and then I woke up.