I had a dream I was on a plane. A totally normal flight. Going in for a landing when things went wrong at the last minute. I swear I could feel the heat of the flames as I saw them coming through the fuselage as the plane is breaking up around me. I woke up on my feet beside my bed sweating. I’ve never had a dream like that before or since. I’ve never done drugs or other vices. That was over a decade ago and I can still remember it like it was a real event in my life. Like it was landing in Denver, I was sitting a few rows from the front on the left isle on the emergency exit row.
A month or so into the pandemic, I’ve had a string of at least eight or so dreams where I would die one way or another. One example would be me swimming in a pool with some friends until the sun sets, when suddenly a car smashes through the fence and hits me. Sometimes the deaths would come out of nowhere, sometimes it felt like it was meant to happen. However, I’ve never felt that calmness after dying. It just felt like bumping into a wall and thinking “meh” before continuing on with my day.