The Trumpet Shall Sound
Words and Music Meditation
The Trumpet Shall Sound
Ann Gauger
Hildegard of Bingen Writing Group
September 4, 2023
I don’t like dreaming. That’s because my dreams come true. Ever since I was a little girl with black bobbed hair and glasses, I would dream things, vivid, bright as real-life things. Sometimes very horrible things, like plane crashes or psychotic shooters. When I woke up, they would come true. Not always the same day, but as soon as I was in a place where I recognized the beginning of the dream, the rest would happen as I dreamed it, even if I tried to stop it. I once tried telling the police about a shooter incident about to occur, and they arrested me, and interrogated me about how I knew the shooter. They should have believed me or at least checked out whether there was an actual shooter. They could have stopped it. But they didn’t. They didn’t! So people died. I cried tears of rage and sorrow.
I usually have no problem telling the real world from dreams. But the last few dreams have stretched that to the limit. The dreams have been extra sharp and in focus, like they were scenes from the actual events, like I was really there. I felt like I was involved, like I had an urgent role to play.
But I am ahead of myself. I will tell you as it happened to me.
It all began a few months ago when a sound emanating from nowhere and everywhere was heard around the world--it sounded like a shofar blowing, strong and warm, but somehow imperative. The sound lasted for minutes. There was no way to not hear--it penetrated everywhere. It seemed to be a warning. But of what? Then came a chant, somber and speaking of a day of wrath to come. Dies irae. The day of wrath?
We were all a bit on edge anyway. We all knew the planet was getting warmer, but many people thought it was natural, not man-made, and a reduction in carbon emissions would do nothing. Things were stuck politically, and nothing much had happened. It was a gigantic game of Chicken. So the next dream was not a surprise.
Dream #1
I dreamed the weather was so hot that trees could not photosynthesize anymore. The Amazon forests experienced temperatures so high that the forests began to die. When I woke in the morning, I found out it was true. Rich read me an article from the journal Nature saying that the weather was too hot for the trees in the Amazon. This was serious, people said. Where would it stop? All I could see was my dream– the leaves of the rainforest canopy turning brown. https://www.nature.com/immersive/d41586-023-02599-1/index.html
A week later, Rich took me to the Opera. I put on my best silk qipao and put my hair up because the opera was to be Turandot. Rich wore a Mandarin jacket embroidered with red dragons. Afterward, the beautiful aria “Nessun dorma” was stuck in my head–nobody sleeps.
As we walked home we passed a homeless camp. I felt a little ill as we walked by the camp. Why should it be Ok for us to have so much and them so little? Why did we not do more? .It was another case of worldview dissonance. I wondered briefly about how they coped with the heat. I turned to my husband who was also solemn. Maybe he was under Pucchini’s spell, or maybe he was troubled too.
“Rich, how did they manage in the heat wave? “
“I expect the city opened some municipal buildings that had AC. But nobody was really prepared. In some ways people in apartments were worse off because the heat accumulated during the day and the temperature didn’t drop at night.”
I remembered those who died in the tenements.
“We will be in serious trouble if it gets much hotter, especially if it stays hot,” he continued. That made me uneasy.
That night I had the next dream.
Dream #2
A trumpet blast sounded a warning.The rain ceased. I mean it stopped, period. No rain for months. It wasn't just a local drought, it was everywhere. Plants quickly withered and died, forest fires began burning everywhere, the creeks and streams dried up, and lake levels dropped. Mysteriously, there seemed to be a soundtrack for my dream. I could hear people pleading Libera Me Domine. The nations gathered to pray, invoking God and his mercy with the words:
Deliver me, Lord, from eternal death
on that day of judgment,
when the heavens will shake,
when the heavens will shake and the earth will tremble,
when you come to judge the world through fire.
Chorus:
Trembling, trembling comes upon me,
and I stand in awe, when I am called to give account,
and wrath will come upon me.
That day, a day of wrath,
calamity and woe,
that day, significant
and very bitter.
Grant them eternal rest, O Lord,
and may light shine upon them for evermore.
Deliver me, Lord, from eternal death
on that day of judgment,
when the heavens will shake,
when the heavens will shake and the earth will tremble,
In the dream, a great cloud of moisture in the form of mist settled over farms and cities. Apparently, God heard our prayers and had mercy on us. It still wasn't raining, but it was a source of water. Water dripped like tears from the trees and was swallowed by plants and grass and trees alike.
An angel spoke. “If you heed the warning and repent, there will be a reprieve of ten years.”
I woke up. A rare thunderstorm was buffeting Seattle, but the streets were dry. So it had begun.
I have said I see things in my dreams, and then they come true. But people often don’t believe it. Then I found that Rich and some of our friends had also had the dream! With that support, I went to religious leaders, to any who would talk to me.
“Your Excellency, there is a serious drought coming that could last for years. We may be able to stop it if the people repent and beg for mercy.”
The archbishop remained seated behind his desk. “How do you know this, my daughter?”
I told him about the dreams and the words of the angel.
He laughed.“Why should God reveal this to you, and let no one else in on your secret?”
“My friends also saw the dream.” I said.
“That could have been something you have arranged. You could be just seeking attention. I will pray for you.”
I argued, even pleaded. “Look, I didn’t choose this. I would gladly stop if I could, but I can't. I’m not even a believer!” He shut me down anyway.
He stood up and came around the desk.“You are no Elijah, Cassandra,” He all but patted me on the cheek. Then he showed me the door.
He was only the first of many other faith leaders to send me away.
Rich believed in my ability to see the future with my dreams. He had seen it happen. He told some influential friends. Rich was always enthusiastic and generous, but often not always wise about people’s natures. I am not sure he was clear on the idea that a world-wide drought was bad news. Notoriety was the last thing I needed.
I hated this situation, having visions of the end times when I don’t even believe in God. I had to admit that it put me in a bind. If the world was only material, no supernatural stuff, then who was sending me these dreams and then have them be so true–Gaia? No, only a being who had intimate knowledge of the present and the future could do this. Plus there were the angels.
God seemed the likely answer. I was going to go with him. I found a Bible and began to read. I also looked up the meanings of the chants.
I visited a Catholic priest and told him what was happening. He was a bit surprised, but listened to what I had to say. He told what the Church and the Bible said about the end times.
“There is one thing I want you to remember,” he said. “God is merciful. He does not desire that anyone should die. He is always ready to forgive. We have only to ask. But sometimes it takes a tragic event to wake us up. And we do not know the state of the souls that die. I suspect that many turn to him at the last moment.”
The government heard about me, predictably.
An agent of the FBI named Mr. Haloran contacted me and brought me in for questioning. “What did you mean by asking religious leaders to gather the faithful and pray?”
“There is going to be a serious drought that only God’s mercy can lessen. The angel said if we repented, God would reduce the term of the drought.”
“Why do you say that? Has someone told you that they are creating this potential drought?”
I sighed and began again. “No person was involved, and only an angel spoke…”
“Aren’t you the same young woman who knew about the shooter?” No surprise there. They had checked my background.
“Yes. That was a different dream.” I sighed again. “I have a question for you. Why didn’t the police try to prevent the shooting from happening, or at least send some cops to investigate?”
He agreed that it was an unfortunate event, but that the police could not act based on unsubstantiated evidence, and the FBI couldn’t act on it either. And so it went, back and forth.
24 hours later he released me, but he still didn’t believe me. I could tell he thought I was crazy. I thought he was crazy to not even try to avert a drought that might drive many families off their farms, and radically affect the food supply.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Ragnor. I would strongly encourage you not to talk about your dreams to anyone. The dream could be sensationalized, and that would be destabilizing,” Mr. Haloran said. I thought I might see him again, and said nothing.
When I got home, I asked Rich if there was a way to get legal protection.
“No,” he said. “Not from the Federal government.” He looked tired. I think they had interviewed and cautioned him as well. Maybe I wasn’t such an advantage after all. Poor Rich.
One month later, we still had no rain. No rain in Seattle in September was not unusual, but the heat continued unabated. That was unusual. The news reported severe world-wide drought everywhere–Great Britain, Germany, the Riviera, Greece, Russia, China, Myanmar, India, New Zealand, even Latvia and Finland. And of course, the United States. I felt distressed and unwell and went to bed early.
Dream #3
The dream began with sound but no light. The trumpets sounded again and again. Then the light grew, revealing air pollution like nothing we had seen before. Smoke from the numerous forest fires had made the east coast sky orange once before. But now the sky was the color of sulfur and lead, because manufacturers had begun sending their waste into the atmosphere by burning it. The air stung my nose, so I put on my N95 mask. That helped some.
There was no water available to dump the waste in. Also, because there was no rain, pollution never washed out of the sky. Soon, no one exercised outside anymore. Hospitals were filled with people who couldn't breathe. The public had the will to change things, but they didn't know what to change. Industry had no will to change, and denied any role in the problem.
When I woke, I spoke to the religious leaders again. Finally, after much exhortation from a small Chinese-American woman (me), and their recognition of the severity of the situation, the clergy set up large-scale events/opportunities/ repentance services, to take place around the world. And mist came, bringing some reprieve. A great cloud of moisture covered cities and farmlands, and water dripped like tears onto the waiting soil. But there was no rain to cleanse the air when the mist lifted. This was a grace, a temporary reprieve. The words of the ancient prayer of the Church echoed in my brain. Dies irae.
Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla:
Teste David cum Sibylla
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quando Judex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
Tuba mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulchra regionum
Coget omnes ante thronum
Mors stupebit et natura
Cum resurget creatura
Judicanti responsura
The day of wrath, that day
Will break up the world into ashAs testified by David and the SybilThe day of wrath, the day of wrath, that dayWill break up the world into ashThe day of wrath, that dayWill break up the world into ashAs testified by David and the Sybil.
We rebuilt and aided those in need, using resources of those who donated. People began helping one another, in person. Attendance at churches, synagogues, temples, and mosques went up significantly.. Crime rates dropped, and civility and kindness made a ten year appearance. Then things spiraled into darkness again.
A month after I noticed things deteriorating, I went to bed with a headache.
Dream #4
An angel appeared and blew a trumpet, then showed me failing crops, people starving, roving gangs, and abandoned farms. In the dream, the Irish, Armenians, and Eritreans, who knew all about famine and starvation, moved north to Canada and Siberia to escape the returning heat. There they contracted diseases thought long extinct from the thawing permafrost. I asked the angel why? Wasn’t escaping catastrophe allowed? It seemed harsh, unnecessary, even vindictive. ”These things are natural consequences of human actions,” he said.
When I awoke, I had to act somehow, do something to try to prevent what I had dreamt, or at least mitigate it. Rich urged me on. He saw my dreams as a gift meant to warn us. As if one woman’s efforts would be enough!
I pleaded with rich governments to release stores of food while they could, and to share with other countries in need. But no one listened, and even if they had, the damage was too great. Famine continued, along with unbearable heat.
I went to the Irish and told them to stay off the permafrost when they moved. It turned out they had no plan to move, but now they thought it might be helpful. The Eritreans were harder to persuade. They had fought so hard for their own country that they didn't want to move now, especially to people of an entirely different culture, so far away. I reminded them how strong they were, and that staying might be fatal.
The Armenians were incredibly strong and ready to listen. I recommended they go to the mountains to the east and north of Seattle in British Columbia, because they came from a mountainous country and might find it more congenial. The climate would be more temperate near the coast. I told them I thought immigration restrictions had been dropped, oddly enough. Maybe it was divine intervention.
The dream was unfolding before everyone’s eyes. All around the world people were climate refugees. As the ice caps melted, coastal cities in flood plains were abandoned. Caravans of RVs fled Arizona and Nevada because of the heat. Tires exploded from the hot pavement during the day, so they traveled by night. Florida was mostly underwater, as was Venice. Washington DC was battling to preserve monuments and records. The city was returning to the swamp it was before. So was New Orleans.
Pockets of lawlessness began to appear. Rich wouldn’t let me out by myself. I was stuck in my apartment with the windows closed and shuttered. We ran an air purifier and conditioner as much as we could. I watched the vid on broadband nonstop, its endless reels showing disaster after disaster. The power grid began to fail, so I could only watch when we had electricity.
There was another reason to stay hidden in my apartment. Someone had told some news jock about me. My name was everywhere.
“Cassandra, Seattle prophet.”
“Cassandra, stop doom scrolling Seattle!”
“Tell Cassandra to take her f***ing dreams and go!”
People began pounding on our door.
“Make it stop! My daughter is dying because she can’t breathe!”
“Please pray for us, Cassandra-Far-Sight!”
“Go to hell, false prophet of death, and take this torment with you!”
We moved to Birch Bay, as far north as we could go, rural, quiet, and cooler. We set up a fund for purchase of emergency medical equipment and small scale solar generators for those in dire need. This disaster wasn’t my fault but I wanted, even needed, to help.
Images of starvation, diseased crops, empty fields, and lawlessness continued on every vid still sending feeds.
“Has anyone in the dreams told you what to do?” Rich asked.
“No. I wish.”
The government was looking for a scapegoat and I was the natural choice. I hid and wore a disguise, but the FBI found me anyway. Rich had told his best friend how to contact us if something happened to his parents. He was naive about his friend's ability to keep a secret, but I couldn't blame him. My parents were already gone. It was probably the heat of the inland Chinese plateau that killed them both, my American father and Chinese mother, the last time the power grid failed. I can’t afford to think about it.
On a positive note–the FBI now acknowledges that my dreams show the future, I say this sardonically. How do I know? The FBI separated my husband and me and put me in a cell with the lights on all the time. Mr. Haloran looked at me sadly. They thought they could prevent another dream, but good Irish Catholic that he was, Mr. Haloran knew you can’t stop the Apocalypse. They tried using drugs to give me dreamless sleep, a recipe for madness, but the dream came anyway.
Dream #5
It began with music again, but it was the soul-wrenching sound of people pleading for their dead loved ones. I saw people gathered in large numbers. They said nothing. Their respirators did not allow speech. They kept vigil in silence. Other people wept.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, Rest eternal grant them, Lord,
et lux perpetua luceat eis. and may light perpetual shine on them,
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion, A hymn becomes You, God, in Zion,
et tibi reddetur votum and to you may be paid a vow in Jerusalem. in Exaudi orationem meam, Hear my prayer,
ad te omnis caro veniet. to You all flesh shall come.
The scene changed. People were running everywhere seeking escape, but there was none. The sun was darkening and the ground began heaving like the earth itself was convulsing. The dead rose. And abruptly things changed again.
I woke on the last day, with all the dreams on my heart. It had not rained in several months, I was starving. Rich was allowed to say goodbye before the firestorm that was sweeping from the mountains hit. They released us separately into the hysteria that was unfolding, but not before publishing my full name. My maiden name is Cassandra Ragnor, and my husband’s name is Richard Roche. My full married name is thus Cassandra Ragner Roche. I have become “Cassandra Ragnorok”, prophetess of the last days. Fortunately, they did not publish my picture.
Damn. Everyone should have listened to the angel trumpets. War, famine, and pestilence are everywhere now, the fruit of our greed and willful blindness. Everywhere priests are hearing confessions on street corners, from all kinds of people--business men, absent dads, angry women, fire fighters, junkies, police, prostitutes, and politicians are repenting, or at least asking forgiveness. Even the captains of industry have taken their place to hedge their bets. I'd better get in line. I don’t know how much time is left.
Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi Lamb of God who takes away the sins of
Miserere nobis the world ,Have mercy on us.
Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi Lamb of God who takes away the sins of
Miserere nobis the world, Have mercy on us.
Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi Lamb of God who takes away the sins of
Dona nobis pacem the world, grant us peace
The dreams are over now. My story has been grim, but I don’t want to leave you in despair. This isn’t the end of the story. Not this time.
God saw our misery and inability to change, and He sent his Son Jesus to redeem us. That is another story, and you will find it in the Bible, especially the Gospels. Find a community to join, and learn more.
Celebration has been heard in the heavens as the Redeemer took his place at the right hand of God. He will return on the last day, with one last trumpet blast, the day of the resurrection of the dead and the final judgment. The earth will be rolled up like a worn out carpet, and the seas will cease to be. We will have a new heaven and new earth, where justice and peace shall kiss, charity endures for all peoples, and all honor and glory are God’s.
Amen. Alleluia. Maranatha!
The sound of a shofar,
Turandot by Puccini, Nessun Dorma, and what I need to change.
Requiem by Faure’, Libera Me Domine
Dies irae, Gregorian Chant
War Requiem by Britten, Dies Irae
Requiem by Mozart, Dies Irae
Faure, Libera Me Domine
Requiem by Verdi, Dies Irae
Faure, Agnus Dei
Messiah, Handel, A trumpet shall sound
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We should talk. When is a good time?
I too am following on the heels of your chat with Scoot. Keep writing! I’ll have to revisit this when I’m a little less sleep deprived, but to say this is moving is an understatement.