For those of you who know me, you also know that God periodically gives me dreams that He uses to teach me things, about myself, about others, about future events, and more. Normally, though, or should I say thankfully, those don't usually come more often than once every 6 months. Once every 3 months is generally known as the shortest amount of time I experience between these dreams. Yet, I've had two now in the last thirty days, the latest one being last night. So either God's needing to go into overdrive with me for some much needed schooling, or else something is up. Myself, I think it's more corrective actions rather than anything else. Anyhow, last night, October 5th, I had this dream, and at first I didn't realize what I'd experienced. But, as I've had time to think about it, I began to realize what it was, and began exploring it. Anyhow, here's the dream.
The Festival Bandit
The dream began with my dad and I at an outdoor festival in a foreign country, experiencing the sites and all that it had to offer. While we were walking around I happened to be carrying an oblong bag, inside of which were several weapons. I know for certain there was a pump shotgun (A Mossberg 500), a Ruger 10/22, and I believe one other weapon (I don't know what the 3rd weapon was, but can assume that it was likely an AR-15 due to some of the ammo included in the bag) that I couldn't identify. While walking around I would open the bag periodically to check the contents. I'm not sure why I was doing this, but I think I was worried that either I might soon need what was inside, or I just wanted to make sure the contents were okay. I even had a soldier approach me while doing this, take one of the .223 rounds out of an ammo block in the bag, and question me about it. I don't remember exactly what I said to him, but it was something along the lines of "It's for the stuff I have in the bag, so it's okay," which seemed to satisfy his curiosity and anger, after which he returned the single .223 round to me, which I then placed back in the block and closed the bag. Eventually, as dad and I were walking around, we took notice of a shady looking character in the area who appeared like he was up to no good. So I put down the bag, unzipped it, and pulled out the shotgun to have it ready in case he tried something funny. And it wasn't long before he did just that.
I remember the shotgun had 5 rounds loaded in it, apparently all pumpkin ball deer slugs, and there were, at least, 5 more of the same type of rounds in the bag as spare ammo. Anyhow, as the shady character came at us, I aimed the shotgun at him to sorta "encourage" him to NOT try messing with us. Um, yeah, that didn't work. He did, however, take the long way around me, apparently trying to flank or get behind me where I couldn't shoot at him, at which point my dad stepped up and put himself between me and the bad guy, and proceeded to pretty successfully fend him off. Wanting to protect my dad, I raised the shotgun and fired at the bad guy. Sadly, I missed, and at close to point blank range, even. So I went to rack a new round to take another crack at the guy, but found the pump handle jammed all the way to the back. This is actually happens to me a lot in real life, due to a bad habit of mine I have when it comes to shotguns. It always happens when I incorrectly pull back on the slide such that, when the gun fires, the bolt releases, and the slide drops back half to 3/4 of the way, causing the weapon to jam due to the spent cartridge, and the freshly loaded new round, trying to take up the same space within the action.
Anyhow, realizing what I'd done, and somewhat scolding myself for the rather unfortunate situation created through habit (a bad habit, I might add), I fought to clear the weapon while dad kept fighting the bad guy. In doing so I ended up ejecting the four remaining live rounds onto the ground before I was able to successfully clear the jam. Once I did, I quickly picked up the four rounds, reloaded the shotgun, and pumped a round into the chamber. By this point the bad guy was giving up, and had decided to flee the area. Realizing that letting him escape was a bad idea, I turned the shotgun towards him, as he was running away, lined him up in the sights, adjusting my aim slightly to correct for my earlier aiming error, and pulled the trigger. Click. Dead round. Misfire. To say I was upset is an understatement. So I racked the gun to clear the dead round, and watched in dismay and confusion as a puff of chalk erupt out of the breach. So, in an abundance of caution, I checked the action and found the chamber, bolt and all, plastered with chalk such that I didn't feel it safe to use the shotgun anymore. To verify that the weapon was no longer usable, I left the action open (as you should), and checked the barrel for obstructions. What I saw made me sick to my stomach.
Everything in the shotgun was caked with chalk, from breach to muzzle such that, had I been able to successfully load another shell (and that's a big *if*, given how caked up everything was), and had attempted another shot, the shotgun would have catastrophically exploded (ie, squibbed), completely destroying it. I remember looking over at my dad, and saying, "Welp, that weapon's done," referring to the now unusable condition of the shotgun. The only thing to do now was to take it home, strip it down, and give it a thorough cleaning because there was no way she'd be usable in her current state. About this time two soldiers, both of whom appeared to be of Indian nationality, rushed up to us demanding to know what happened. I said to them, "The guy who you're looking for, the one causing problems, went that way," pointing in the direction the bad guy had run off to. The two soldiers thanked me and took off after him. Since the bad guy would now no longer be an issue, I packed away my guns, after which we went about finishing up our time touring the festival before returning to our home. The dream ended there.
As a small side note, in hind sight, both in the dream, and after I woke up, I remember wondering to myself why I'd chosen the shotgun in this situation, rather than the 10/22 or the AR-15, as both of them would've been better choices than the shotgun. I even considered using one of the other two weapons instead, several times, in fact, but ended up settling on the shotgun for reasons I can't determine. The only reasoning I could come up with for this decision is that I wanted the biggest boom stick possible to put this guy down and out in one shot (what a failure that was), rather than have to pick away at him, over multiple shots, until he finally went down. This is also exacerbated by the fact that, in a self defense situation, a shotgun is actually my worst choice, as I'm notorious for always having issues with them at the worst possible times. With the AR and the 10/22 I don't generally have that issue. Had my dad not been there to take most of the abuse and cover me like he did, that guy would've ripped me apart. And, while my dad didn't suffer any injuries, my bad choices put him unnecessarily in harms way, and for far too long. So, in short, I screwed up badly, and yet my dad still saved my bacon. Had I made better choices early on, the situation might not have gone the way it did, and would've likely ended on a better note.
Anyhow, that's my dream, and the after thoughts. Please feel free to share this with others and give me your thoughts as always. Thanks.