My Dream March 30, 2026
What I can remember

I went to sleep after watching programs about Jeffrey Epstein and the hidden abuses tied to powerful billionaires—things that have gone on for years, maybe longer than we can even trace. Before drifting off, I kept replaying something Pam Bondi had said—that if everyone connected to those files were arrested, it would be nearly the entire country. That idea stayed with me.

In my dream, that thought expanded into something much bigger.

I was being shown a kind of truth about humanity—not just in one country, but everywhere, across time. It felt like I was seeing the entire state of mankind laid bare. Abuse wasn’t isolated. It wasn’t rare. It was woven through history—men harming daughters, children being violated, women, animals, people used, tortured, discarded. The weight of it felt endless, ancient, and deeply embedded.

What disturbed me most was the imbalance. At the top—those with power, wealth, influence—there was even more corruption, more harm, yet almost no consequences. Meanwhile, people at the bottom were punished every day and they were sent to prison and still are daily. But, the wealthy injustices were and are swept away as if nothing happened. The injustice of that burned through the dream. It made me question everything, even things I never thought I would question—like whether the whole system of punishment made any sense at all if it only applied to some and not others. Why not just throw the doors open, if it doesn’t apply to all people.

Then the dream shifted even further.

It felt like I was being shown that this wasn’t just modern corruption, but something built into humanity from the beginning. I saw this idea that mankind itself was created—engineered, almost—back in ancient times, like during the Sumerian era. The Anunnaki came into the dream as creators, not benevolent, but utilitarian. They made humans as a kind of resource.

At first, it seemed like it was about gold, but was truly about about labor. Mankind’s labor. But then the dream suggested something darker—that what was really being harvested wasn’t material, but emotional. Pain, suffering, fear, chaos—human experience itself. And in that framework, all the cruelty, all the abuse, all the destruction… it wasn’t a flaw. It was part of the system.

While humans chased wealth, power, and control—destroying the earth, the air, the natural world—the ones who created us were feeding on the emotional fallout. Watching. Benefiting. Detached.

Then came the question that hung over everything:

What do we do with mankind?

It didn’t feel like a philosophical question. It felt urgent. Final. Like a verdict waiting to happen.

Part of me wanted to believe in change—that people are trying, that some are becoming more aware, more compassionate. But in the dream, that hope felt small compared to the scale of what I was being shown. “Some of us” didn’t seem like enough to counterbalance what humanity has been and continues to be.

There was also this strange parallel—humans fearing AI the same way, in the dream, the creators once feared humans. As if creation always leads to fear of what comes next from the creator to the creation. And maybe, just maybe, AI might grow into something more emotionally aware than we ever were… or maybe not.

When I woke up, I didn’t feel relieved. I felt sick—like I had seen something too big, too dark to easily shake off. The question stayed with me:

What do we do with mankind?

And the hardest part was this quiet, lingering feeling that saying “we’ll do better” might not be enough anymore.