Let's get weird, eh?

 Before you read further, the following entry is a matter of spiritual belief. It also might a little dark at times. Take with it what you will. Also, know that all knowledge is a tool or a weapon. It is the choice of the wielder to choose how to use it.

The concept of reincarnation is not new to anybody right? The idea that the soul keeps returning to a fleshly form, over and over? I have no proof of it! That's fine. This is also not my first time on this plane.

Everybody dreams, even me, though I don't remember them most of the time. Which really sucks, because I would imagine at a few times in my life I have been genuinely happy, and think well maybe a nice dream will make things a lil better moment, but eh, whatever.

Matt, you just glossed over a kind of a bit of a mindbender. Could you go back and talk a little more about the whole, "Not the first time on this plane" thing? That seems a little different to just put out there. 

I'm getting there! Damn. I never say anything in person and then you give me a chance to speak and then don't give me a chance to get my thoughts out. There are a whole fuckload of them up there. My mouth could rarely keep up with my brain. Patience, bitte.

Anyway, the majority, of the dreams I do have memory of, were of pretty vivid and, painful deaths. Additionally, in these dreams, I acted as participant, and observer, linked to the my previous self. 

CW: trauma, death

Still here? Alright. I will also do my best to make this as filled with gallows humor.

The first memory of the evening does not feature a grisly death, just some classic betrayal, and I will let you all add an ending for it. Anyway, setting the scene. The moment I had been able to capture was myself sitting around a fire, with some close friends, either reminiscing of a past victory, or ramping up spirits of battle to come. It was a great feeling. I felt it during the dream. 

I have been hanged. Not hung like stockings with care, hoping that St. Nicholas soon would be there. Nope, hanged, like a sack of potatoes, from a tree, left to die. The noose was poorly tied; without enough wraps so my neck would break. It is really fun to be strangled, for days on end, because a damnable dumdum. I almost called them a peasant. I'll bet the richest lord doesn't know a timber hitch from a bowline. I hope you read that with a giggling tone in my voice. If you didn't, please go back and reread it thusly. 

In another dream, I have been shot. I had a minne ball rip through my mid-chest. In modern caliber ratings, it tends to be close to a .70 caliber round. Tearing through cloth, muscle, and my left lung, and out through my back. Blood immediately beginning to pool in my lungs, as a I am knocked to the ground. Luckily, I didn't feel the pain of the slug that ripped through body as I was carrying a drum.

I just laid there, staring up at the sky. Things were alright for a moment, a real short moment. My lungs were filling with blood. The not draining out of the exit wound thing is difficult for that. Also, military drums are heavy. Think Giles Corey in the Crucible, with the stones, and the "More weight..." and you will have an idea of THAT sensation. Anyway, blood filled my lungs, and I watched myself drown, in my own body fluids, with a drum laying on top of my body.

Oof, that is a little heavy to read. Dammit, I made a pun during my dramatic send-off. Oh, well. I'll try to make a good conclusion next time.