In the year around 2021, I had a vivid dream—one that felt like a message beyond time, one that still lingers in my memory as though etched into my very being.
In the dream, I found myself walking along a road—one that felt like any ordinary street, but quickly transformed into a battlefield of chaos. Fire raged across a vast area of the road. Smoke filled the sky, and panic was in the air. Amidst this terrifying scene, I saw a man wearing the traditional dress of Muslim worshippers. He was running—desperate to survive. Then, from somewhere unseen, a gunshot echoed. He was hit, and his body collapsed to the ground. I saw it happen. I stood still, shocked, yet aware that survival was now the only instinct.
I was not empty-handed. In my hands, I held the sacred relics of the Buddha. Their presence was calming, holy, and powerful. I knew I had to protect them at all costs.
The war zone stretched in all directions. Gunfire roared from both sides of the street. Explosions shook the ground. I searched for refuge—not just for myself, but for the relics. Suddenly, I was no longer on the burning road. I found myself inside the compound of an international school. At the time, I didn’t understand why I was there, but now—after enrolling in an international university in 2023—I know this was a sign of future transformation, a shift in my own life path. The dream had foretold it.
But even the school was not safe. War had no mercy. Gunfire was closing in. Flames reached near our walls. I rushed to the rooftop of the building. There, I saw the connection between the fire and our structure—an explosive force that had broken the walls like a shattered vinyl record. Just when fear peaked, someone arrived.
It was a member of the Ariya Vijodara Society. He took my hand and led me away—through chaos, through smoke, through uncertainty—into a hidden forest safe zone. I carried the relics still, close to my chest, as though they were the only link between the sacred and the burning world.
But survival was still not simple. As a vegetarian, I faced a great test. Food was scarce. My devotees had nothing to offer me. I stood before a spiritual choice: Should I maintain my vows or bend in order to survive? The struggle of faith and the body weighed heavily on me. Yet my heart leaned toward devotion.
Then, a voice in the dream whispered a final vision:
""If China launches an attack on Taipei, it could trigger the Third World War, as the United States would be directly drawn into the conflict."
It was no longer just a fear—it was a prophecy.
The United States and China—giants of the modern age—would enter into a deadly confrontation, a war not of ideas but of extinction. Massive destruction would unfold. Armies would fall. Cities would vanish. Nations would lose their history in the fires of modern weaponry.
The Middle East would suffer immense devastation.
China would endure catastrophic losses.
And the United States, despite its might, would not escape the storm.
In the dream’s final and most chilling vision, I saw the United States itself in ruins.
Cities—once glowing with light—were turned to ashes.
Enemies had breached the great borders.
The opposition forces, unseen but overwhelming, struck mercilessly.
But the story did not end there.
In its final hour, the U.S. military activated a weapon never before revealed to the world—a secret weapon, buried deep in the classified vaults of power. It was not nuclear, but something far more terrible.
“A weapon powered by an energy force three times greater than the atomic bomb.”
Its blast was not just physical—it was energetic, almost cosmic.
It consumed the land like lightning from the sky.
This final strike was aimed at China, and the devastation was total.
No nation emerged unscathed.
What was this weapon?
Was it the rumored black energy technology?
Was it drawn from quantum mechanics, cosmic fusion, or interdimensional science never known to the public?
In the dream, no name was given—only the sense of forbidden knowledge, power too dangerous for this world.
It was as though mankind had reached the edge of divine punishment, wielding forces meant only for celestial beings.
And in doing so, it triggered a reset—a purification through pain.
The Silent Survivors and the Sacred Relics
When the smoke cleared, only a few remained.
I was still in the forest, holding the relics.
I was not alone. A few others—monks, seekers, children—stood beside me, eyes full of sorrow, but hearts full of light.
In our hands were not weapons, but memory.
Not missiles, but merit.
We were not warriors.
We were witnesses—and now, rebuilders.
This dream is not a fantasy.
It is a warning.
A map.
A glimpse of a future that may still be changed—if wisdom is heard, and the Dharma is upheld.
If the dream becomes real:
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Let the relics be preserved.
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Let the forest remain untouched.
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Let compassion guide our science.
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Let leaders listen before they strike.
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Let every vegetarian hunger become a symbol of nonviolence.
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Let the Ariyas lead those who remain into a future of peace.
Because in the end, when all weapons are exhausted, only one force will endure—the truth of the Buddha’s path.
May all being be safe and peace .
Sao Dhammasami