I am climbing up a ladder from some underground place. I open a trap door from underneath and emerge, shoulders above ground level; in some open space that at times is the Plaza Mayor in Madrid, at other times the Plaza Mayor in Burgos, and also a large parking area near Chicago’s McCormick Place. A procession is moving from the Lake Side Center McCormick Place building through the enclosed, elevated walkway toward the North and South buildings. I see it is Pope John Paul II’s procession. “Maybe he’ll come over here” I think. Lo and behold, the Pope is walking across the parking lot toward me. He reaches me. I am still standing on the ladder, head and shoulders above the cobble stoned surface. I hold my hands in prayer, exactly as they taught me when I was preparing for my first holy communion. “He’ll like this,” I think. Up close the Pope is very young, tanned, healthy and handsome, like he looked when he was skiing. He glows. He bends over and pats me on the head. Smiles beatifically down at me. The tanned skin around his eyes crinkles. Then he turns and starts to head back to McCormick place. But he only takes a step or so and then turns and says “make a wish.” I am trying to think fast of a good wish. I know I don’t have much time. He’s a busy man. “I wish for my granddaughter’s health,” I say. “This will make him think I’m a good guy,” I think. The Pope smiles and nods and turns away. The dream ends.
Do you think I should send this to the folks in the Vatican who are looking for evidence of the Pope performing miracles?