The War Hero Who Never Crossed Over: A Battle That Never Ended

 

There are some dreams that are just dreams, and then there are the ones that shake something loose in the fabric of reality. The ones that leave a residue—an unmistakable imprint—that lingers long after waking. This is one of those dreams.

Every few months since 2004, an old classmate visits me in my sleep. The only issue? He died in one of the wars. And yet, there he is—alive, aware that he died, but existing as if death was just a minor inconvenience. In these dreams, he always knows he’s back from the other side, but there’s an unspoken understanding between us that his return is temporary, fleeting. Every single time, I tell him he needs to go to his family, specifically his parents, and explain what really happened beyond the veil. Their faith has locked them into a narrow path, and they need to know. He agrees every time. And every time, he walks away.

Maybe he never will tell them. Maybe that’s not his role anymore. Maybe… it’s mine.

When I first discovered in 2020 that his spirit had never fully crossed over, it made sense why he kept showing up. The person I once knew was never one to argue, but after years of screaming into the void for help—unheard, unseen—he carried a grudge. He wanted peace, but he also wanted to be heard. He once tried to use my body to speak to his family directly, but no matter how much I cared, that was a hard no. I don’t do possession, not even for old friends. But this dream was different.

It didn't stop with him.

The dream twisted into something else entirely—people posing as coworkers turning violent, trying to beat me down. I had to pin them down, reciting what they thought was the Lord’s Prayer. But it wasn’t. Not even close. I don’t even know the Lord’s Prayer. Yet somehow, it worked. The woman I was restraining suddenly changed her mind, decided she was done fighting me. I let her go, furious. And when I say furious, I mean I was fuming.

I stormed out, screaming at the top of my lungs, “I DON’T SAY THE F*CKING LORD’S PRAYER!!!” and slammed the door.

Moments later, I stepped onto an elevator, ascended to the level I needed, walked out, and woke up.

Now, what does this all mean?

On the surface, sure, you could call it a wild dream. But energy doesn’t lie. This wasn’t just a subconscious purge; this was a spiritual message wrapped in a full-blown psychic experience. The timeline bending, the resistance against forced doctrine, the act of holding my own in battle—this was about spiritual sovereignty. About standing in my power. About refusing to be a conduit for someone else’s script.

My classmate? He comes back because he has unfinished business, but he doesn’t complete it. Instead, he leaves the idea hanging, lingering in my mind. Maybe the truth he’s meant to tell isn’t his to deliver anymore. Maybe it’s meant to come through someone else—someone like me. Maybe his family will be guided to my words one day. Maybe they’ll finally see past the constructs that have bound them.

And the second part? The ‘coworkers’—whether they were entities, projections, or something else entirely—tried to force me into submission through scripted words. It didn’t work. I said what needed to be said to make them back off, but I refused to claim it as my own. And when I got my release, I didn’t slink away quietly. I made damn sure the universe heard me: I DO NOT SPEAK WHAT ISN’T MINE.

Then I took the elevator up. Translation? I ascended, I leveled up, I moved forward.

This wasn’t just a dream. This was a soul lesson. A crossroads. A test. And if you’ve ever had something similar, consider this: what unfinished business is knocking at your door? What truth are you meant to speak? And most importantly—are you moving forward on your own terms, or still playing by someone else’s script?

One way or another, the soul always finds a way to be heard.