It was for me, anyway.
I had the most amazing dream two nights ago - it was full of both peace and joy - it flowed. When there is water, it can be clean or dirty. This was clean. And when water flows, it can move rapidly or slowly - this was swift, but it took its time as well - there was no hurry.
Some of you, I may have told this, some maybe not . . . but there's been this now and again thing with death in my dreams and my family dying in them. Every morning after held this somber kind of air, trying to shake it off.
And then two nights ago, I had a dream about my own death. I never saw my end; it didn't happen in the dream, but I knew that my day was coming and I had completely reconciled myself to it. Actually, the peace that I had about things was almost as if I was going to go to sleep at an appointed time, not to wake up again. Not death.
I had nothing to say, nothing to do, it was as if I was as light as a cloud - absolutely no burdens and in as much of a dreamlike peace as could be. And there was a committee. A group of people, led by a lady. She, and the others, were there to orchestrate my final hours, days, months - but not to lead me to my death, but rather almost to give me a kind, red carpet farewell to the Gate.
And they made everything perfect.
It was like a painting - of brilliant color, from the dark hues to the light, of smooth singing voices, tragic, beautiful and joyful, and the whole thing swallowed and breathed of depth.
It was beautiful. And I woke up.
And I didn't have to shake myself from it, the morning after.