From
a Waking Dream
Early Tuesday Morning, September 8, 2014
 |
| Statue of The Bruce, at Stirling Castle |
Girdled in the plaid of the Bruce they
laid their swords before Christ. Kneeling, their faces still glazed
in the blue of battle, they pledged fealty to Him as they promised
their souls to war upon the demons which oppressed His people.
Knowing from ages past this was appointed
Christ accepted their duty and oath, blessing them and their battle
for souls otherwise lost to God, His Father.
The Fall of Lucifer and his demons to
Earth had penetrated the substance of God's people and this taint
would be removed and His people purified.
These kilted men had been tempered by
battle, marked with scars and the wounds which do not show on the
skin.
I watched them from a distance through
time, knowing them for kin. Heart to heart. Mind to mind and soul
close to Him who died for all of us, yet in this shining moment stood
before us, hands raised in blessing of their battles yet to come.
And I could feel the winds of Scotland
cleansing me of care, leaving only the certainty those fallen with
Lucifer, the demons who have afflicted us since the Fall, would be
brought to choose. They would either turn to Christ, the Spirit and
God, or be ripped from Earth, returned to their Master in Hell.
These, my kinsmen, knew I was among
them, though divided by the roil of generations and centuries. In
this moment we had made the same pledge.
Then, the Bruce, who they had followed to
this place of peace and sanctuary, which also drew me, turned and
spoke.
“Daughter,”
he spoke it soft and gentle but with the knowing which penetrates
past bone to soul, “You
have come to point us to them. This is your battle, not one of
revenge but to carry to them the choice between salvation and the
gnashing of teeth and flames of Hell. “
Nodding, I bowed my head, wondering, but
accepting. Heads still bowed, I felt the Bruce, newly sanctified by
Christ, touch my forehead with his hands, the same I had seen placed
between the Hands which bore the wounds of the Cross.
Those who had followed the Bruce to this
place of consecration rose, turning to me.
I found that my mind, which had been
trapped in anguish and pain, was eased as I listened to the words
they spoke.
I sensed, knew, and rejoiced. There
would be justice even it if lay beyond the limits of their lives and
mine.
“The
Time is Come.”
I heard the echo of Christ and saw its strength and truth on the
faces of these kinsmen who stood with me. “As
they choose, so shall their fates be decided.”
And
the Bruce smiled. “Your
weapon is the truth. Use it.”
And as the glaze of morning light
enveloped us I rose, consecrated to battle for the souls of Man,
stolen by evil for this age.
My eyes opened and I found myself laying
on my bed. The air around me seemed charged and different. Touching
my forehead my finger found a something unexpected. Then, my eyes
wondered at the tiny residue of blue.
