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Dream Interpretation 366: Trains still constantly appear in dreams even though they are not used that much because they are such a powerful metaphor for life.

I obtained the following from the internet. I do not know who the author is:
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Life is like a journey on a train…
with its stations…
with changes of routes…
and with accidents !

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We board this train when we are born and our parents are the ones who get our ticket.
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We believe they will always travel on this train with us.
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However, at some station our parents will get off the train, leaving us alone on this journey.
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As time goes by, other passengers will board the train, many of whom will be significant – our siblings, friends, children, and even the love of our life.
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Many will get off during the journey and leave a permanent vacuum in our lives.
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Many will go so unnoticed that we won’t even know when they vacated their seats and got off the train !
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This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos, good-byes, and farewells.
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A good journey is helping, loving, having a good relationship with all co passengers…
and making sure that we give our best to make their journey comfortable.
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The mystery of this fabulous journey is :
We do not know at which station we ourselves are going to get off.
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So, we must live in the best way – adjust, forget, forgive and offer the best of what we have.
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It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to leave our seat… we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life.”
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Thank you for being one of the important passengers on my train… don’t know when my station will come… don’t want 2 miss saying: “Thank you”
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The president is dead. He was assassinated.

Lincoln had this dream shortly before his assassination:
About ten days ago, I retired very late. I had been up waiting for important dispatches from the front. I could not have been long in bed when I fell into a slumber, for I was weary. I soon began to dream. There seemed to be a death-like stillness about me. Then I heard subdued sobs, as if a number of people were weeping. I thought I left my bed and wandered downstairs. There the silence was broken by the same pitiful sobbing, but the mourners were invisible. I went from room to room; no living person was in sight, but the same mournful sounds of distress met me as I passed along. It was light in all the rooms; every object was familiar to me; but where were all the people who were grieving as if their hearts would break?

I was puzzled and alarmed. What could be the meaning of all this? Determined to find the cause of a state of things so mysterious and so shocking, I kept on until I arrived at the East Room, which I entered.

There I met with a sickening surprise. Before me was a catafalque, on which rested a corpse wrapped in funeral vestments. Around it were stationed soldiers who were acting as guards; and there was a throng of people, some gazing mournfully upon the corpse, whose face was covered, others weeping pitifully. ‘Who is dead in the White House?’ I demanded of one of the soldiers ‘The President’ was his answer; ‘he was killed by an assassin!’ Then came a loud burst of grief from the crowd, which awoke me from my dream.

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