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By Brian Charles
As I lay asleep one night recently in Tucson, I had this powerful dream.  It was vivid, and very emotional, and I seem to receive about one prophetic dream like this per year.  It seems to mirror events in my life in 1989, when I lived in State College, Pennsylvania, and had rented some garden plots from a local farmer, and eventually had to move out of that little rich town because of a lack of finances and opportunity.
I was standing out in the middle of this very huge farm field.  It must have been a section or so (640 acres) as it was very large.  It had nothing at all growing on it except for my two little gardens.  The top of the barren soil of this farm field was covered with rocks and pebbles, and I was walking out into the middle of this huge field to visit my gardens when all of a sudden there were all of these large agricultural machines and other vehicles like trucks headed straight for me from all different angles.  I had to quickly step aside onto this little triangular piece of farmland to avoid being run over by all of these farm machines and equipment heading my way!  I stepped beside my first garden and, oh the beauty of the wild flowers and herbs and heirloom corn and vegetables!  But it was soon plowed under by the farm machinery.  Oh, I see the clary sage with upright leaves, and I wanted to pick some and smell the wonderful sage herbal smell, but I see them in my mind as just a memory now.  Next to where my first garden was passed by this large agricultrual machine that made raised beds for strawberries, and the soil that was plowed up was dark and rich-looking, as dark and rich as magnetite black sand.  As this machine passed by I heard the noise of “fwip” “fwip” “fwip” as it was inserting little black irrigation hoses for the strawberry beds.  I quickly walked to my second garden, and oh I quickly looked at the wildflowers, and herbs, and heirloom vegetables as I hurried around it—it was the last time I would see my garden.  There was this one wildflower, it was called “Fireball.”  It was a mass of little red flowers on stems, and when I was looking down at it, it looked exactly like a flaming fireball the size of a bowling ball!  But it lost that effect after I was touching the flowers and got pollen all over the place, and now it was just a mass of yellow flowers.  Oh how I wanted to pick my herbs and flowers and vegetables, but I didn’t have the time, as things were transpiring so quickly in the field.  I hurried around my garden, and the planting crews had not even got around to planting strawberry transplants when all of a sudden I stepped on a floor of a store!  I was no longer in the farm field, I was now inside one super-huge store, which occupied the farm field now, and was like 15 or 20 Super-Walmart’s in size.  I was standing next to some noveau-antiques, this merchandise which was the latest trend—newly manufactured antique-looking vases and pots and signs which as all the rage in retailing.
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