Faye Vision: Where Dreams Speak Beyond What We See
THE WORLD WENT DARK. I REMAINED.
Among the Fallen, One Soul Awakened.
The Alpha. The Survivor. The Moon Turned Red.
The moon did not rise that night. It bled into the sky.
A red glow spread over the ruins of a world I barely recognized. The streets were empty, the buildings broken, their windows black. No familiar voices called my name. Around me, everything had fallen. Somehow, I was still standing.
At the edge of the ruined street stood a man I could not clearly see. He carried the strange authority of someone who had survived a world that swallowed everyone else. In my dream, he was the Alpha Male. Then he looked at me and called me something I never expected to hear: “The Chosen One.”
I remember those words even after waking. Chosen for what to survive, to witness what was coming, or for something I had yet to understand? I could not tell whether he had come to protect me or whether he was another mystery waiting to unfold. All I knew was that the world had fallen silent, the moon had turned red, and somehow, I was still there.
This was not an ordinary nightmare. The sky and the earth seemed to turn against us at the same time. First came the smell of burning air, thick enough to choke on. Then thunder cracked so violently that I felt it inside my bones. Rain fell in sheets as a massive tsunami rose in the distance, moving towards us like a wall. The ground split beneath my feet. Buildings tilted, cracked, and disappeared into the widening earth. Fire, flood, storm, and earthquake collided in one terrible moment. There was nowhere to run.
I grew up an only child in a broken family. My needs were provided for, but affection and reassurance often felt out of reach. I wanted someone to lean on, someone who could offer a hug without asking me to explain my sadness. That loneliness followed me into adulthood.
Just before my thirtieth birthday in May, I won a free birthday giveaway by Ms. Rhee a founder, spiritual leader, and head visionary of Filipinas Visionaries & Healers Society (FVHS). The giveaway led to a conversation where her kindness gave me room to speak about vivid dreams and impressions I sometimes connected to fires, accidents, or sudden losses. Whether they were intuition, coincidence, or patterns my mind had formed, I had carried those questions for years. For once, I did not feel I had to hide them.
My Lola was one of the few who believed my dreams mattered. Others dismissed them or said I was overthinking. I tried to ignore them, then searched every detail for meaning. The more I wanted certainty, the more unsettled I became. My session with Ms. Rhee did not prove what the future held, but it helped me pause and face what I was feeling.
Then there was Moonveil.
She entered my life as an online tarot reader, then became someone whose messages I waited for. I imagined her as an Aquarius lone wolf: guarded and difficult to read. I am a Gemini, talkative and drawn to genuine conversation. When life felt heavy, I turned to her. A simple “How are you, my dear?” or “Take care always, queen” could soften a difficult day.
But her warmth came and went. She appeared when I needed someone, then disappeared without explanation. A short message could lift my mood; her silence could undo it. I called her Moon, a quiet corner in a noisy world. I did not realize how easily comfort could become dependence.
After my birthday, my dreams intensified. In June and July, I saw a masked man before the image of a woman, surrounded by hidden identities and unfinished truths. Other dreams suggested opposition and spiritual conflict. A calm masculine voice seemed to narrate the scenes, repeating: be patient; not everything would be revealed at once. I woke unsure whether the voice belonged to the dream or to my own mind trying to steady me.
By August, I dreamed of a crowded, Chinatown-like district collapsing into economic panic. Prices plunged, people fought over goods, and shop after shop displayed closing signs. Fear spread faster than the news.
In another dream, thick haze covered the landscape. A violent wind scattered the clouds, the air turned bitterly cold, and ice crystals fell like snow. I stared upward, unsure whether it was beautiful or terrifying. The impossible felt real.
Later, I read about a drawing made by a child who died after a sudden illness. It reportedly showed airplanes, damaged buildings, police stations, military vehicles, frightened crowds, and strange figures. Some images echoed my dreams, and the resemblance unsettled me. Was it a warning, or was fear making me connect things that did not belong together? The drawing proved nothing, but I could not forget it.
I connected these images to what I called my Fourth and Fifth Visions: two worlds side by side. In one, trees remained, water was clean, and people had shelter. In the other, nature was stripped away, leaving the land exposed to floods and earthquakes. I dreamed of protected communities where powerful people prepared while ordinary families suffered. Ideas about weather-control technology, including HAARP, entered the visions. But dreams are not evidence, and fear cannot turn questions into facts.
That distinction became difficult when my own mind felt crowded. I often absorbed the moods of people around me and carried their problems as if they were mine. A delayed reply could become a hundred questions; a strange dream could take over an entire day. I began to wonder whether my sensitivity was intuition or anxiety wearing another face. Was I receiving warnings, or was stress turning every uncertainty into a threat?
Fear does not always arrive as a monster. Sometimes it is a thought you cannot silence. Doubt makes ordinary shadows look dangerous. Pain can make a kind word feel like rescue, even when the person offering it walks away.
I am learning to separate what I dream from what I know, and what I feel from what is true. I cannot predict the future or explain every vision. I can write what I saw and how it changed me. When my dream world collapses, what is left?
Perhaps the answer is not the mysterious man beneath the red moon or a hidden message waiting to be decoded. Perhaps it is the person who wakes shaken and faces the day. I turn the images into words and artwork. Writing gives fear a shape, doubt a voice, and pain somewhere to rest.
The world went dark. I remained not because I had all the answers, but because the story had not ended.
“The world may write its warnings in darkness, but I remain the master of the mind that faces them.”
Some feelings are easier to write than to say. Every story begins with a little courage and a dream.
Meet DearMoon by Lea Faye ♊️
– a little piece of me, written into words.
