a vision of my death

It was very immediate.
That's the quality people try to evoke when they suspect a dream is more than a dream.
I knew I was dying.
The surroundings were nondescript like a County Council vehicle workshop where I had worked in my youth.
I was cradling a blue crystal object.
The more I tried to mind it, the more it shattered in my hands.
This did not upset me and I continued to cradle the blue crystal as best I could.
I knew I was dying.
There was a slight urgency to complete some job in helping a particular person.
I knew I was about to enter a realm of pure truth.
I knew that none of my justifications would stand in that realm.
Golden light began to suffuse the concrete walls.
I prayed with profound sincerity: "Blessed Mother please let it be you who comes for me."
Then I was out of my body.
And I woke.
Certain things seemed instantly clear.
The blue crystal seemed to represent my mortal life.
The guy I was mean to help had featured in some sort of an intimation I had thirty years ago which I believed was from God.
The prayer to Mary was perfectly natural. Still I smiled as I thought of it. There are many accounts of saints of heaven coming for people at the end of their lives. But the prayer was hilarious to me because I had recently written an article warning that scoundrels within and without the ancient church were capable of seeking to deify the Blessed Mother in order to sow division and confusion among Christians.
The scoundrels exist.
The Blessed Mother is still the highest saint of heaven and available to us at every moment.
As we live.
As we die.
And as we dream.