The Typhoid Dream: “Write down the dream I send tonight.”-Tyr

Found via a wordsearch and origin traced back to http://bachopress.com/blog/ via reverse image look-up, I do not know if Dr. Hardesty drew the symbol- but she has the earliest known image of it on the web. She seems to be yet another Pantologist scholar/mystic in the world and author on surviving disease. I have yet to read her blog, but I wished to give proper credit for this symbol. I will not say what search terms I used-but will admit to a correct accurate guess of the two words I typed privately.

In response to a vision of Tyr- I am writing down this very coherent and disturbing dream of the near future…. “You will dream tonight, publish it.”  I expected a lovely Heathen/God experience, but what I did dream, well, without being told to write it beforehand, I wouldn’t expose myself like this.

I was taught by a family of Scottish pagans who I used to live with for a few years in my 20’s  that “to say a prophecy-dream out loud or to write it- takes away it’s power to become real…the more you share it, the less chance of it occurring.”  I hope this is true.  Except they tended to not-share good dreams.  It seems their bad one’s were fortunately few.

For the global circumstances of this dream- the core “issue” is a very real consideration everyone, not just heathenry, should hope never occurs, but is more than possible.

I do not claim to have any precognitive ability, and I hope I do not.   If anything… perhaps posting this will flush an old, obstinate friend from the bushes at best-case scenario.

However, with that being said- I am also well enough educated to “guesstimate” the chances of “Wow….if this trend continues, this type of chaos may occur.”  That’s not mysticism, it’s just simple logic that I learned to apply from college….ironically, I almost failed that class for asking “Why?” too often and the reply being “Just memorize the damned formulas”.  I cannot memorize anything at all unless I know “Why” it exists… it’s actually very frustrating. I live by writing small notes on my hand in ink and two calendars.  Without further rambling:

The Typhoid dream.  (I am not looking up the real symptoms of this illness until I finish writing this.)

The dream began in a hospital I had seen in other dreams but do not recall in life- (it might well be Hershey Medical Center- directly after high school a close friend had a car accident and was comatose for several months there- touch and go.  He lived.), there was a new pandemic that began out of an anti-vaccine community in California and the Typhoid virus had mutated into a largely fatal, extraordinarily contagious version referred to as “Typhoid II”.   The symptoms were fever so high the skin seemed reddened, coughing blood, congestion- it seemed like a “Dire-flu” more than anything.  In each region of the country, due to the contagiousness of the condition, each “area” had a designated hospital to take only these patients.  The virus was so unknowingly contagious it spread within days rapidly from coast to coast, and instantly killed the people in countries with larger populations of malnorished or sick individuals.

The incubation period was seemingly non-existent meaning medical staff, especially nurses, were also dying and since already infected, were forced to attend to those in the late-stage of the disease.  To be even near someone with stage 4 without full protection was to guarantee immediate infection through the proliferation of the virus around the patient, but that was not known immediately.  However, if one could “rally” before “stage II” became “Stage III”, they would recover fully…however, for someone to heal from the disease was “as rare as ebola”- and those who did survive developed immunity and and were begged to give blood samples to try to create an emergency vaccine of their antibodies.  In the dream, no vaccine was “finished” and I only saw one person “Cured”, personally.

Dogs and cats were entirely immune to the disease, and since human companionship of friends and relatives became “Too dangerous”- service animals were offered by many who have them to be companions to the dying…and could ask for their service dogs back after the patient died with nothing more than a disinfection process and a blood test that never proved to show any contamination whatsoever.

I was called to this hospital in this dream- told that I was listed as a chaplain for one of the patients, they did not tell me in advance “who”- and I didn’t really care.  Since I did not know their religion and I have this blog and other methods through which people contact me, I have a modest black dress with a plunging neckline I made “professional” with the addition of a brightly colored tank top underneath.  I wear no symbolic jewerly except for my wedding rings and my tattoos- most of which are covered by this dress except for my arms and if I put my hair up, the two runes on my back.  If a Heathen asks for me- I just wear my hair up: Voila’: instant Gythia.

So, not knowing which friend or acquaintance called for me, I kept my hair down but tied back- my hair is exceptionally long these days and thick- if I don’t tie it back, I end up accidentally eating it if I go anywhere where I have to ever look down or be active.

I arrived at the ward- an entire side of the hospital was dedicated to this disease.  The only other Chaplain present was a local Catholic priest I have seen every single time I’ve been volunteering in this function walking around with the same lanyard they give me when I remember to ask for it….it’s just a laminated tag that says “Chaplain” with the symbol for a hospital  that opens doors to the wards for me by allowing me to hold the barcode to the reader instead of pestering a nurse via intercom.

Inside the ward, the nurses asked “Are you sure you want to put yourself into this kind of risk?”

I replied, “If I did not, then this should not be my vocation.”  The middle-age priest concurred with me and approved, looking so stoic I could cry and then we were both immediately lead by different nurses to different sections of the ward, him- down a long hallway around the corner.  I was also around the corner but lead to the first room behind the nurses’ station.  The nurses had a television on at their station and always updated me on proceedures.  Inside of the dream, I was there about a week or less.

it was not far-  in stage I, there was a room that contained two sick men- one sicker than the other…both of which were former college professors who did not care for each other.  For the sake of privacy, I’ll change a name and not use last names.

In the nearest bed, was one, bored/annoyed professor who was what I consider a very good friend named Jason.  When I attended college late- I found I had more socially in common with professors close to my own age  than students.  Jason looked to be fairly well off.   In the bed on the other side of the room was Malachi.   Malachi was a professor who harmed me greatly to the point where I wanted to leave immediately.

Jason saw my discomfort immediately and said,

“Stop.  This jerk made me his “Next of Kin” for some bizarre reason… he needs spiritual help now, are you going to leave him?  I don’t know of any other person trained in his religion well enough, so *I* listed you as his chaplain.  I thought it seemed fitting and could help you have some closure and show him some humility.”

Jason wanted me to call him “Doctor”- since he does not befriend former students- a practice I never agreed with that I saw as very self-limiting based on being the only child of a famous professor himself who took in “strays” for holidays and meals who had no families.

I replied to Jason, “Absolutely not, Jason.  If you think you can call on me in any capacity as an authority, I am your social equal…JASON.  Am I your chaplain as well?  You know I know next to nothing about your personal religious practices. Also, how did you know I volunteer as a chaplain?”

He smiled and replied, “I’m my own chaplain.  Also, I’ve read your blog.” and continued to read/play games off of his phone.  I remember trying to spend as much time talking to Jason as I could to not force myself look at the other bed.  Asking questions such as:

“Why don’t you have books?”
“Because I read “Fahrenheit 451″ by Ray Bradbury- they burn every item that comes in here to prevent the infection from spreading.  I refuse to be the cause of any book getting torched on my account.”

The refreshing thing I noticed is outside of college, Jason was more candid in his expression.  What he hated he stated clearly without “giving a fuck”- and he was a man of his own, strong moral compass derived from a lifetime of studying ancient religions.  In college, all I knew of it was he pledged his best “not to cause harm” to his deity.  But in the dream, “harm” seemed to have been replaced with a sort of recklessness in this interpretation where “harm” was mitigated in his world view as “harm that leads to the greater good of all involved is not ‘harm’.”

I feel it would be cogent to note I never understood why Jason had blue eyes considering what little I knew of his ancestry.
I also never asked.
That’s something only Heathens care about- eye color in regards to trying to determine truth in claims.
For example: I know most strong Lokeans who have either bright green or hazel eyes that can appear bright green at times, and I know some Lokeans who are so stuck on this point where having green eyes is a “thing” as a proof of Loki’s favor.
(Yes, I have hazel eyes, but they’re unusual.  I’m not getting into it.)
Jason’s eyes were always a very clear light blue.  I always associate true-blue eyes with Tyr in some way, not that grey people “call” blue- but the blue of any clear sky.  By his own admission, Jason’s people have predominantly brown eyes.

Jason began to ignore me and said “Do your job- he’s over there. His mother died and he has the exact same amount of actual friends he had when you knew him, it will be good for you.”   That would be minus one.  It became evident I was his only actual confidant at one point to which he would communicate with honestly for a short time…. most of his time he attracted fawning sycophants who came and went or people to which HE was subservient and cloying.

Gods, it felt like approaching a crying viper.  As a chaplain, I would have to approach this person who intentionally and without any emotional guilt whatsoever stole from me, and then tried to destroy my mind, my reputation, and drive me to suicide.  I had to be “compassionate”!?  I thought believed this person was a malignant narcissist but he seemed so helpless and the loneliness was palpable.

Jason knew the truth of the situation but could not do much about it as it occurred. However, he was open in his contempt and clearly blamed Malachi for his infection and had no compunction about reminding him of that fact.

Malachi was a person who the strongest commonality we shared was a desire to seek out and become more intelligent…with Jason (rightly) telling this guy in-dream he blamed him for their infection by travelling to the source-infected area and returning without telling people until after the trip. Although I liked this flippant side of Jason I did not see in lifeI also understand anyone who finds themselves at the edge of possible, extraordinarily painful death, will stop caring for unnecessary polite lies that many insist upon in all social interaction and call “courtesy”,

So although at first it seemed out of character-  But again, close to death without wanting to be, and still trying to make the best of the situation to “make something good of it” is very much in character of a mentally and spiritually strong person.

In the dream, I imagined Jason was stuck in a small office with the other guy at some point and it came out in conversation Malachi had just returned from California.  Jason getting up, saying “Let’s go for a drive” and checking them both in.  Jason was well provided for by friends and family.  Malachi had nothing but what he kept with him usually- his carrying case and its contents. But it sat unopened on a shelf at the side of the room.

I approached the other bed and put my hand on the man’s shoulder.  He was shaking and I was trying so hard to think of him as a stranger, not as the man who harmed me so I could show compassion to him without prejudice…and also, so I would not give into my own urges to abuse him while he was weak by knowing his weaknesses and knowing what words I could say that would make HIM suicidal.  He clearly was frightened, lonely, and in pain. If I can be kind to wild animals caught in fences and risk being bitten to free him- my rational was this was no different.

So, I sat on the side of his bed, and gently had my hand on his shoulder (something I NEVER would do in life- even as a friend, he was uncomfortable being touched.)  and asked him to talk to me.  He looked awful and would not face me- but on the wall beside him was a long mirror and I could see his face- and it was his modern face, not the face that he had back when I worked for him in college.  He asked me if I could forgive him,

I said honestly “I am really trying my hardest right now, but you are in so much suffering as a person I can’t help but feel compassion for you.”

“Do you still remember my language?” he asked, hopefully.  I replied No- in a word both his language and our language shared, and explained,

“I intentionally set out to forget it- I know a few words here and there, and some days, I do wake up fluent- but those days are filled with nothing but bad memories.”

“I am sorry.” he replied.  He was bleeding from his nose, and I cleaned it off of him gently with some sort of disposable thing near by- tissue or gauze.  I kept physical contact.  Yes, he had a fever, but it felt also like a metaphorical stove.  I wondered, “How long can I keep this up before I either break down and rage at him or fall into tears myself?”

“I accept your apology.”  What else could I say?

I stayed inside this hospital- they got elevated to “stage 2” of the disease together.  Jason was clearly furious but still very kind to me.  Now, they were in a room that was behind glass and permitted few visitors near them.  I was allowed in if I sacrificed my ability to leave the hospital.*

Each stage of the disease was more contagious than the stage before.  To reach “stage IV”, for instance- even being in the same room as the person would cause an immediate stage 1 infection.  A stage I infection was safer to care for and people in stages one and two COULD improve…but no one knew why or how, and few did.  There was no one who recovered from stage 3 or 4.

I stayed.  I spoke to both men, Jason was in good spirits with me and basically said “I sincerely hope this is not how I’ll die- but I’ve accepted it as a possibility.”  They now had a dog on Jason’s side.   Mal is terrified of all animals- so it was the ultimate anti-comfort for him.

I gave him a small fish once as a gift and he took my best friend on campus aside nervously back then and asked him “If the fish dies, will she hate me?”

I was nervous people from my old university would show up, Jason assured me they wouldn’t since he told them “not to risk themselves.”  Oddly, I somehow felt I was not at risk of infection at any time.  I followed the protocols as they were created to minimize my risks- making sure I would not go too-far and I refused a hazmat suit as did the Catholic stating it made us both uncomfortable to try to do our work wearing them.

Jason improved, seemingly by force of will and stubbornness and left without me knowing it- not even a goodbye….but he left the dog.

So, I was stuck with the asshole who ruined me, trying to muster what sincere compassion and comfort I could through every form of mental gymnastics I could think of

He made it up to stage 4, where it was just his bed (and several others) encased floor to ceiling with glass- these were created of three walls and sealed after the patient was inside by the 4th wall of glass after the patient was safely moved inside….a patient who was intubated and all fluids ran through the floor to an incineration chamber.  They were not expected to last longer than a few days, they bled from coughing and sneezing, and they were fragile.

The only means of administering care was through a small receptical at the head of the bed.  The nurses in this room were already infected with stage one.  Somehow, I and the Catholic priest were still testing clean.  We had blood drawn as we entered and left our respective charge’s rooms- he answered this by “I’m doing Gods work” plaintively and dismissively.

So, the guy was dying- with all his mental facilities intact and they had realized there was no medication available except for pain relief to an extent- but all that did was make him more cogent instead of less.  He asked me if there was anything,

anything at all I could say to him in his native language….and the only thing I could recall was how I used to close my letters to him.  I stumbled, my pronunciation was absolutely horrid and rough, but I managed to say “goodbye” in the only way I ever did with him… he returned it for the first time not in writing.  I left the room, and was told he died and would be cremated.

I refused.

Stating that for people who come from religions where burial is necessary and cremation was believed to harm the soul, it is entirely worth the risk to owe these people this courtesy of a burial, even if the cemeteries created would treated with the same walls as Chechnya around Chernobyl. The Catholic priest agreed with me and indicated that he knew people of his own religion who felt likewise, and could produce “ample volunteers” of his own faith to don full suits to bury the dead whose faiths required it- with the concession that the volunteers were spared knowledge that they were interring anything other than Catholics alone.  From this- each hospital got a concrete-walled cemetary with likely even more walls inside.  The Priest apparently had some real political “pull”- and for the families, the names of the deceased were on small bronze plaques with birth/death listed attached to the outermost wall for the mourning families.

I was done- I was disinfected and blood tested one final time.  I discovered my estranged mother also died in the same hospital and hand-wrote a will saying she was “Proud of all I accomplished and could have anything from her estate.”  My mother is a hoarder who collects useless trinkets.

My grandma was the one who made the traditional family-feast after death on the hospital lawn.  I didn’t spend more than moments there.  I went for my grandma, not anyone else on that side of the family and said “I had to work” and the food was lovely after nothing but so much hospital food.  In real life, my grandmother is a frightening cook and knows it- but the feast was actually “normal” and tasty- using mostly foods that overlap both American and Lettish culture.  The main dish was ham, and instead of bread, wonderful Pierog (Not pierogis- a Pierog is a small bread roll stuffed with minced bacon and usually onion or scallions brushed with egg and baked until golden.  I haven’t had an edible one since childhood)

Since hospitals for Typhoid II were “Regional”- yes, all these people in real life would have ended up in the same place upon infection.

Somehow, at the end of the dream I ended up with a dog, but I do not know if it was Jason’s dog or my mother’s dog.. I don’t even know what animals my mother has.  I think likely Jason’s since it was a mutt of white and black patches about the size of a miniature collie.  In a pandemic, there are few survivors- so a well-trained dog was likely a service dog donated and nonreturnable to a deceased owner.

Outside, waited a friend of mine I know through the internet from Pakistan and she asked if I could walk her to her bus stop- I asked how far it was and she replied,

“Not far, only 10 miles or so.”

I replied, “That is the most Pakistani thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

The dream ended pleasantly with my friend from Pakistan and I walking and speaking pleasantly; she was accepted to live in the US, speaks fluent English, and with the population loss, jobs were abundant- her former workplace, country, and family were entirely annihilated by the infection.  When the event began, she told me she volunteered to be an interpreter to get people to the hospitals in the United States since she knew she had many friends here, and although she was sad over losing her family and her country was under quarantine- she was such an incredibly strong woman that although she was sorrowful, she was not even broken in the slightest.  I told her my stories, she told me hers- and the dog beside me was my own dog instead of the dog with more white I had at the hospital.

And that’s the dream.

I really hope it never happens…now to look up the symptoms of Typhoid fever to see if it COULD happen:

From Wikipedia:

“Signs and symptoms[edit]

 

Rose spots on abdomen of a person with typhoid fever

Classically, the course of untreated typhoid fever is divided into four distinct stages, each lasting about a week. Over the course of these stages, the patient becomes exhausted and emaciated.[13]

  • In the first week, the body temperature rises slowly, and fever fluctuations are seen with relative bradycardia (Faget sign), malaise, headache, and cough. A bloody nose (epistaxis) is seen in a quarter of cases, and abdominal pain is also possible. A decrease in the number of circulating white blood cells (leukopenia) occurs with eosinopenia and relative lymphocytosis; blood cultures are positive forSalmonella typhi or S. paratyphi. The Widal test is negative in the first week.[citation needed]
  • In the second week, the person is often too tired to get up, with high fever in plateau around 40 °C (104 °F) and bradycardia (sphygmothermic dissociation or Faget sign), classically with a dicrotic pulse wave. Delirium is frequent, often calm, but sometimes agitated. This delirium gives to typhoid the nickname of “nervous fever”. Rose spots appear on the lower chest and abdomen in around a third of patients. Rhonchi are heard in lung bases.
The abdomen is distended and painful in the right lower quadrant, where borborygmi can be heard. Diarrhea can occur in this stage: six to eight stools in a day, green, comparable to pea soup, with a characteristic smell. However, constipation is also frequent. The spleen and liver are enlarged (hepatosplenomegaly) and tender, and livertransaminases are elevated. The Widal test is strongly positive, with antiO and antiH antibodies. Blood cultures are sometimes still positive at this stage.
(The major symptom of this fever is that the fever usually rises in the afternoon up to the first and second week.)
  • In the third week of typhoid fever, a number of complications can occur:
    • Intestinal haemorrhage due to bleeding in congested Peyer’s patches; this can be very serious, but is usually not fatal.
    • Intestinal perforation in the distal ileum: this is a very serious complication and is frequently fatal. It may occur without alarming symptoms until septicaemia or diffuseperitonitis sets in.
    • Encephalitis
    • Respiratory diseases such as pneumonia and acute bronchitis
    • Neuropsychiatric symptoms (described as “muttering delirium” or “coma vigil”), with picking at bedclothes or imaginary objects.
    • Metastatic abscesses, cholecystitis, endocarditis, and osteitis
    • The fever is still very high and oscillates very little over 24 hours. Dehydration ensues, and the patient is delirious (typhoid state). One-third of affected individuals develop a macular rash on the trunk.
    • Platelet count goes down slowly and risk of bleeding rises.
  • By the end of third week, the fever starts subsiding (defervescence). This carries on into the fourth and final week.”Well, holy shit batman.  Tyr STILL has yet to give a UPG that was not verifiable via Wikipedia. To the best of my recollection, I have never known of the specifics of Typhoid outside of references to “Typhoid Mary” who spread the most extreme pandemic to date of this condition or playing an old PC game called “The Oregon Trail” where, without fail, at least one of your fake-companions (one usually named after real friends or swearwords) would randomly die from as part of the trail unavoidably.  There were not antibiotics in the game….so if your son “Dracula” got typhoid- pick up the pace to Oregon before time ran out.  Prior to sleeping (I am completely nocturnal- I keep vigil for my husband who works as a machinist at a local factory with high risk of injury and fatality- I wish he would would work anyplace safer) I had a rather rotten day full of such rage and anger towards unrelated Heathen issues, I asked for Tyr, Loki, Frigg, AND Odin for assistance.In strange result- there was blood on me after wards, but no wound from which the blood came. Any person who claims they do not know what blood tastes like is a liar- it tastes metallic.
    *My husband asked, “where [he] was in the dream?”  I omitted many what I thought were minor details.  At the point of the dream with the asterix, I called him and told him to “Stay home- and don’t leave the house.” and assured him that I was fine and working basically side-by-side with the local Catholic Priest as well as the entire situation….claiming this must be “The worst test I could possibly face.”  He said, “Do what you gotta do, I love you.” and I replied “I love you too” and just kinda sat on the bench in front of the nurses station looking out an enormous window onto a grassy, mowed lawn with trees in the distance.  I knew the parking lot was at a different side. Just looking at the grass, missing my home, and wondering why this was happening.  I did not know in the dream I was dreaming.
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6 Responses to “The Typhoid Dream: “Write down the dream I send tonight.”-Tyr”

  1. […] Source: The Typhoid Dream: “Write down the dream I send tonight.”-Tyr […]

  2. To explain the situation within which someone can grow to fear and despise the memory of a person, at the time things were worst, I wrote a fairy-tail about it with charming talking animals and monotheistic-friendly interpretations of spirituality since that was the audience (mostly) at the time. I’ve written in blogs for several years now- they replace 2 shelves worth of hand written journals. Now I have several old URL’s.

    https://mirrorblade.wordpress.com/2011/11/05/all-beautiful-things/

  3. An Andromedian Says:

    I’ve been reading your blog off and on for some time, and you’ve given me lots of insight, which I am very thankful for. I’m returning the favor to you now, so I say this:

    Everything that you’ve been through and are going through in your life and on your path, none of it is in vain. You are needed here by many and you are being forged into a leader for the future.

    Know that you are loved here by many beings that you have not met yet besides the Gods who have claimed you.

    They are watching you. Others are waiting for you.

    Never forget that, regardless of what you may be going though.

    Another gift I offer to you, research the effects the subconscious mind has on your reality. I think it would help you out a great deal.

    From one Lokiean to another…

    • Thank you so much, your deep words are timely and are are truly appreciated.

      After that dream, my psyche still aches. You almost brought me to tears for seeing kindness… my mind is not giving me any “kindness” to myself despite my best efforts! I will do my best to follow your advice, if you have any particular links in mind, they are appreciated 🙂

  4. An Andromedian Says:

    Tyrienne,

    Start with this:

    http://www.kybalion.org/kybalion.php

    You may want to bookmark it or buy a physical copy at one point because you will refer to it again and again in your journey. It will become second nature at one point. I give it to you because with the knowledge you already have, you should have alot of “a-ha” moments.

    Also, study the “Emerald Tablet of Hermes”.

  5. […] “The Typhoid Dream” honestly, really fucked me up…for days. […]

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