A Most Spectacular Dream
Copyright 2021 by Joyce Benedict
religions state only ‘God’ can
see the future. Through different mediums I have. The account below
is the most spectacular and changed my life in more ways then one.
On November 20, 1963 I dreamt that John F.
was assassinated. I described the dream to three
days before the event. Not only was the dream the most extraordinary
I ever had in my life, but it changed my views of
I was newly married and living in Kingston,
a small, laid back city on the banks of the beautiful Hudson River.
One son was four, the other eighteen months. We lived on the second
floor of a large two-family house with a commanding view of Kingston
just a few miles away. My neighbor downstairs, Louise, was married,
had a four-year-old boy and another on the way.
A dear friend who lived about a mile away,
hear of the dream before the event. Last, but not least, a
disbelieving husband, who after having heard my previous precognitive
dreams and dismissing them as ‘coincidence’, seriously
suggested I call the White House when I told him this one.
I had had precognitive dreams before,
surrounding daily events, family
occurrences, letters read
that came days later, warnings of fire, newspaper
seen days before delivery, but no dream compared to the one I had of
that fateful day that would soon be imbedded in the
banks of millions.
I am walking on a beach. A soldier appears
towards me. He tells me a terrible event is about to occur. I am
perplexed in the dream. “Why tell me,” I ask. “What
kind of terrible event?” The scene shifts suddenly to the back
seat of our Volkswagen with my neighbor Louise. Both husbands are up
front; mine is driving. Louise is talking to me and I am filled with
sadness. I ‘see’ that there will be problems
with the child yet born. I say nothing. Suddenly, Louise looks out
the car window and exclaims, “My God, look!” as she
points out our back seat window. I look to where she points.
There is a newspaper stand, the kind you
used to see
on the streets of New York. Hanging off of it, and on the stands in
front of it are many, many newspapers stating in massive, bold print,
THE PRESIDENT IS SHOT!, JOHN F. KENNEDY KILLED BY ASSASSINS BULLET!,
THE PRESIDENT DEAD! We both clutch our hearts and exclaim, “Oh,
Suddenly, I am shot into space at an
speed. Before me I see the President’s wife in a white dress
with veil bending over her children to comfort them. She is very sad.
As abruptly as I was shot into space, I was next hovering over the
White House. Helicopters were circling. There were long lines of
people in black. I am then in the Capitol Rotunda. Different branches
of the armed services are guarding the casket. The scene suddenly
shifts to me being high in the air again looking down on Washington,
DC. I see the Washington Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, the others.
I had never been to Washington before. I observe the long funeral
cortege down a very long, wide street, I then see it going over a
bridge to a cemetery. Thousands gather.
As abruptly as before, the scene changes. I
in the White House in a huge room with very long windows covered only
in sheer, gossamer-like, blue material. A soft breeze blows them
gently. The room is empty save for a wooden casket. The floor is
highly varnished. For the first time in the dream since being in the
car I feel I am a body again and not a spirit zooming all over! I
know the President’s body is there. I am staring at
the casket when I see an arm appear from a doorway to my left.
I grab the arm. I declare, “You are the one
shot the President!” The voice replies, “Yes, I am the
one who did it.” I then said, “Then I know it was someone
in the White House who did it.” As the voice replies, “Yes.”
I tug on the arm as I want to see who the person
awake. A voice as clear as a bell states, “Richard Nixon will
be the next President of the United States.”
Awakening from this amazing dream, I am in
a state of
bewilderment. If Kennedy is killed then wouldn’t Vice President
Johnson be our next President?”
I get up in a daze. The children are
awakening. It is
5:40 A.M. My mind is a jumbled stream of images. Surely this is just
a bad dream. Morning chores take over. Breakfast is served to baby
and son. Then, as husband is eating I tell him complete dream. He
looks up. This time he states, “Well Joyce, perhaps you should
call the White House.”
When he says that I think I have had just a
dream. It was just too preposterous. I imagine myself calling the
White House and stating that I was a Mrs. Green calling to say I had
had a dream of the President’s assassination. He must not go on
the trip. I had heard vaguely of an impending trip to Dallas. No. It
was all just a bad dream.
As the day gathered strength I could not
dream. So unusual to dream about our president! And such a tragic
event. The next day my neighbor comes upstairs for the two children
to play together. I decide to tell Louise the dream. I leave out the
part about her baby’s impending problem. Her eyes get wide. In
her slow, southern drawl she exclaims, “Oh my Joyce, you have
some imagination!” I found it hard that my imagination would
create such an event, but I simply did not think for a moment that it
was to be even though I had had many other precognitive dreams. This
was just too shattering to think that it would happen.
The next night I visit a friend . We share
dinner along with our children. Her husband was not home yet. I tell
her the dream. She comments in her steady, down to earth way, “Lady,
you are as dramatic in your dreams as you are in your daily life.”
She tells her husband the dream that night as they get into
laughs it off.
The fourth day after the dream it is the
am ironing in the kitchen. Children are napping. There’s no
radio/TV on. I seldom listen or watch. I am a peace loving
addict. The phone rings. It is my friend from
is shouting, but not quite, definitely borderline hysterical. I was
never ever to hear her so emotional again. “My God, Joyce, turn
on your radio! Your Kennedy dream. It has come true!”
I reel from the impact of her words. I
thought I was going to faint. I sit down on an old radiator in the
kitchen. Breathlessly, she continues. “I was hanging up laundry
when all the neighbors were rushing out of their homes into backyards
shouting , ‘The president has been shot!’ I couldn’t
believe it. I rushed in to call you. Turn on your radio!”
The rest of the day I was in a daze. Fred
in disbelief. ‘Your dream, it was real!” We were glued to
the TV the next several days.
When I saw Lyndon Johnson sworn in I
intuited that he knew it was to happen. Scenes of
White House, mourners, helicopters, funeral cortege, cemetery shots
were all too familiar. They had been seen in the dream.
That night, Louise came upstairs, once
wide-eyed. “Joyce, you are a mystic!” Well, I assured her
I was no mystic but we were all in shock over the death, and I more
so by the powerful dream.
As the Warren Commission’s report unfolded,
believed they hadn’t come anywhere near the truth of who was
behind it. I always believed that someone in the White House did it.
Today, I believe the Oliver Stone movie, JFK comes
closest to the truth. Several months later Louise’s baby was
born and there were complications. It remained in the hospital for
several months as I had ‘seen’ in the dream.
The subject of the past president’s death
surfaces. Videos that explain new aspects or slants of that fateful
day continue to appear on various channels. As the years passed I
have often pondered the dream and where it took me. I realize I
experienced astral travel, seeing places and events I normally would
never have seen. The researches, books read, other experiences have
convinced me of the reality of ‘other worlds, dimensions, time
zones. My entire perspective of life and reality changed.
The many books read through the years
sources. Two written seriously implicating former President Lyndon
Johnson. They seemed to confirm for me seeing him sworn in and
sensing he being implicated, plus the dream concludes by my stating,
“Then I know someone in the White House did it.”
President Johnson’s mistress was
many years following the assassination.
Her comment, “Lyndon came to me the night
before the Dallas trip stating, tomorrow you will see who really has
In closing, I wish to quote the writer,
Conrad: “All is a living present. The mind of man is
capable of anything because everything is in it. All the past, as
well as the future.”
a junior in high school I have been blessed? experiencing
precognitive dreams that continued throughout
my life. My question, “Why see the future if it can’t be
changed?” Events played out despite warnings. My view of
reality, dimensions, consciousness greatly altered by these
experiences. Conclusion? We all have a destiny.
of the message
won't know where to send it.)
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