I am an olympic runner again. This time, however, I am in Boulder. I run along Pearl Street, touching the skeletons, the witches, the new agers. There are people with their heads on backwards looking the wrong way, and I touch them, and their heads come back straight.
I run up and down the divide, and the glow of my torch shows like the firey setting sun. Brilliant colors show all along the divide. I see the lava again flowing from the trail of my feet slowly oozing down both sides of the mountains – towards the eastern valley: Ft. Collins, Boulder and Denver. I see it flow west towards San Francisco and LA.
I see devils being caught in the lava screaming for mercy. There are angels flying over and snatching people from the pits of hell. They wear nurses uniforms and touch the sick and the dead, and life comes to them.
I see me standing on the tallest mountain preaching the word through a megaphone, and the earth shakes.
The presence of God is covering the region like a liquid fog, clear and gel-like. A substance, but electric with bolts of lightning flowing out of it all over.
I see Jesus on the sidelines yelling and cheering for me to GO! GO! GO!
In the stands are angels yelling the same.
Behind the stands is the throne of heaven where God watches intently.
He yells, “That’s my son!” “Watch him go!”
His face shines, and He has a huge smile.