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.