JCJ’s Dream of Healing
JCJ lay in his dimly lit room, the soft hum of the city outside barely audible. That night, sleep came swiftly, but it brought with it a vision that shook him to his core. In his dream, he found himself floating, an unseen observer tethered to a heavy sorrow. He was remote-viewing Bono, the legendary frontman of U2, but this was no stage performance.
Bono was hunched in a shadowy room, his face gaunt, his hands trembling as he reached for a needle. The light from a single bulb above cast harsh shadows, emphasizing the despair etched into his features. JCJ could feel Bono’s torment—the weight of fame, the pressure of perfection, and the isolation that had driven him to this lowest point. Tears streamed down JCJ’s face as he watched Bono’s shaking hands falter. The pain was visceral, a wound shared across the dreamscape.
In the dream, JCJ cried out, “You don’t have to do this! You’re not alone!” But his voice was swallowed by the void, unheard by Bono. He could only watch, powerless, as the scene unfolded.
When JCJ awoke, his pillow was damp with tears. His chest ached with a mixture of helplessness and determination. He wiped his face and sat up, the dream’s vividness still clinging to him like a second skin.
His thoughts turned to a close friend, someone tethered to a similar struggle. A relative of Nelly Furtado, his friend had fallen into the snares of East Vancouver’s drug scene. JCJ had seen the toll it had taken—once bright eyes now dulled, laughter replaced by a hollow silence. He wanted so desperately to save them, to pull them out of the mire.
JCJ often imagined a way out: a healing fantasy clinic plane. In his mind, it was a sanctuary in the skies, a place where broken souls could find solace. The plane would soar above the chaos, offering therapy, music, art, and the kind of love that healed invisible wounds. He pictured himself and his friend aboard, the city shrinking below them, its grip loosening with every mile.
He reached for his phone and texted his friend: “Hey, just checking in. Let’s talk soon.” It was a small gesture, but it was all he could do for now.
JCJ vowed that one day, he’d make the fantasy a reality—not just for his friend but for anyone trapped in the darkness. As he sat by the window, watching the first light of dawn break over the horizon, he whispered to himself, “No one should have to face this alone.”
