That Silent Hour of Night

Matter is Energy… Energy is Light… We are all Light Beings. ~ Albert Einstein

Emily, Charlotte, and Anne Bronte often mentioned dreams and visions in their writings. Anne, whose work is perhaps less known than that of her two sisters, pointedly wrote about dreams.

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In the first stanza of her poem, “Night” Anne wrote:

I love the silent hour of night

For blissful dreams May then arise

Revealing to my charmed sight

What may not bless my waking eyes (1)

Anne begins her poem by expressing her appreciation of nighttime quiet when it’s possible to dream. As her poem progresses, we discover her personal reason for this appreciation: she is able to hear from a lost love.

I, too, have a great appreciation for the silence of night, not because I hear from a lost love, but because I’ve seen and heard things which hearken from other realms; and at the same time, things that never blessed my waking eyes. For clarification, I will say that sometimes I have experienced such things while my consciousness rested in what I will call “a twilight place.”

During the night of January 6, 2023, I had two visions. At some point, during the course of that night, I was most definitely not asleep. Yet, I was most definitely not fully awake either. I was poised in that suspenseful shadowy realm between those two states, the twilight place. What follows is what I experienced:

At first, I was moving through darkness of such blackness I could make out no form, nor any outline of anything familiar or unfamiliar. I was moving at the behest of someone else. Yet, I don’t know who was leading me onward through the inky atmosphere. I did know that, whoever or whatever they were, they were guiding me and had only my well-being in mind.

Eventually, the ebony atmosphere receded somewhat. However, wherever we had arrived was still very dark. Was it nighttime? Perhaps. Or, perhaps not. Whatever the time of day or night, it was ominously dark. The darkness had a peculiar quality. It wasn’t simply dark because there was a lack of light. It was dark, at least in part, because calamitous events were taking place.

We were on a coastline. In the distance I saw what I can only describe as cosmic explosions. Where I presumed the sky to be was dusky, yet ripped by fantastic streaking flames. The ground beneath my feet was shaking. Every so often, the ground rocked and I struggled to keep my balance. Actually, I was standing in water whose waves swirled about my knees. As I fought to remain upright in the water I looked toward the shoreline less than ten feet away.

That’s when I saw them.

I saw a group of beings gathered near the water’s edge. My best attempt to describe them would be that they were beings of light. They did not have defined forms. In other words, there was no sharp line of demarcation outlining their extraordinarily tall and slender forms. They were brilliant shining luminescent beings. As they moved, their light emanated from within them to the atmosphere around them in sparks and rays. The play of these dancing sparks and rays suggested that each of their overall forms was comprised of a cranium, two upper limbs, and two lower limbs, analogous to a head, two arms and two legs.

They were not human.

As I mentioned, the atmosphere was catastrophic. In the midst of overwhelming destruction, it seemed that these beings had chosen to gather, here, on the coastline. Somehow, I knew that they had conferred and made a decision to leave this place. Doing so required that they journey beneath the tumultuous waters. One of them, who radiated a solemn, sovereign wisdom stood watching as numbers of the light beings entered the water. I was mesmerized by him. An inner imperative caused me to wade through the waters toward him.

It was only as I neared him that I deciphered filaments of light running throughout his form. These filaments were so fine, finer than delicate strands of hair. As I approached him even more nearly, it seemed these delicate filaments formed a pattern something like a grid.

(Before continuing, I should note that, as has been mentioned in previous accounts and articles regarding my visions and dreams, any communication between others and me was/is telepathic.)

Above the din, I shouted (telepathically), “Who am I?”

He stood, magisterially while, at the same time, steadily gazing at me with the greatest kindness, compassion and understanding.

I asked again, “Who am I?”

Unflinchingly, he continued regarding me.

I was seized by an adamant desire to have my question answered. For the last time, I screamed, “Who AM I?!”

While his quiet consideration of me never wavered, he left my question unanswered. In that moment, he gently laid what I believe would have been the palm of his elegant beaming hand upon the top of my head and gently pushed me down into the water.

Once beneath the water, I joined the growing number of light beings below the surface. It was a bit quieter there as the cataclysmic uproar was dulled. We prepared to move together toward our right.

(Note that for these entities of light respiration was not an issue. There was no concern about being able to “breathe” beneath the water. I suppose, by extension, there was no issue as far as I was concerned either. )

It seemed to me that these beings were leaving a place they had been for a long, long time. They (and I with them) were journeying to a place about which they had knowledge, but with which they were unfamiliar.

At this point, I’ll return to Anne Bronte’s poem. Following are the second and third stanzas:

I greatly appreciate this poem. Although simple, within its confines Anne Bronte was able to express intense emotion. With her words in the first stanza (above), we sense that Night brings her a sense of comfort such as the comfort we might feel while wrapped in the warm blankets of our beds. But, as she continues with stanzas two and three, we understand her great sadness, her abject loneliness, and that she was utterly heartsick.

My experience of the vision related above didn’t involve the same emotions. Nevertheless, I was emotionally wrought. I felt the kind of shock one would feel after running into a tree. Upon awakening, I shared the experience with my husband while he recorded my narrative.

I don’t know what this dream means. For weeks afterward, I searched for any images or descriptions of the beings I saw. I found just one image that depicted something only slightly similar.

Because I couldn’t find any image that resembled the beings I saw, I created my own. The image that accompanies this article is a watercolor depicting the scene I not only witnessed, but in which I mysteriously took part.

Have any of you ever had a dream or vision like this? Did you see entities anything like these? Where did it take place? Do you know what it meant?

Until next time,

K. M. Anderson

PhD, Metaphysics

PhD, Spiritual Counseling

Whisperia

P. S. For your convenience and enjoyment, you’ll find Anne Bronte’s poem, “Night,” just below in the NOTES.

NOTES

(1) “Night,” by Anne Brontë

I love the silent hour of night,

For blissful dreams may then arise,

Revealing to my charmed sight

What may not bless my waking eyes.

And then a voice may meet my ear,

That death has silenced long ago;

And hope and rapture may appear

Instead of solitude and woe.

Cold in the grave for years has lain

The form it was my bliss to see;

And only dreams can bring again,

The darling of my heart to me