I Saw My Mother in a Dream: Camille’s Truth

The News That Came at Midnight

“I finally saw her. I saw my mother in a dream, Soline. She was my mother, truly my mother. She kissed my forehead.”

Camille’s voice was trembling. “Where’s Ali? I need to tell him,” she said.

I’m Soline. Also known as the Bride of Shadows. Camille’s friend from university.

We’ve been guests at my home in İzmir for a week now — Camille, Nicole, Lea, Liv, and Chloe. This is the story of how Camille saw her mother in a dream.

Camille ran barefoot into the garden, wild with joy. She hadn’t seen her late mother in a dream since she was six years old.

“Ali! Ali! I did what you told me — I really did see my mother in a dream!” She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

For a moment, Ali was caught off guard.

Saying “I Saw My Mother in a Dream” Wasn’t Enough: Night Is Not for Telling

Ali steadied himself. “Camille, don’t tell it yet. Wait. The sun will rise in two hours — tell it then. Night belongs to the shadow realm. Good dreams aren’t told in darkness,” he said.

Those two hours felt endless for Camille. I was startled too, honestly — by Camille kissing Ali’s cheek. Ali is strict about that kind of thing; he barely lets me get away with it.

Was my friend falling in love with Ali? Or was this simply grief finding its release?

The Dream Camille Told: Reunited with Her Mother

The sun rose. Camille began speaking, breathless with excitement.

“I was asleep in my bed, in the dream. Suddenly someone kissed my forehead. When I opened my eyes, it was my mother. I jumped up with joy and threw my arms around her.”

Camille was so excited telling it that she seemed to float, like a child again.

“She smelled so beautiful in my dream — incredible. That same scent. The scent of roses.“

“She stroked my face, touched my hair, and said nothing at first. Then… then…” Camille went quiet, too overwhelmed with joy to speak. I had never seen her like this.

“For the first time since I was six, I saw my mother — because of you,” she said, turning to Ali.

Ali said nothing. Camille kept going.

“‘Mom, I’ve missed you so much,’ I said. She smiled. Then she took my hand and led me somewhere. Everything around us was green.”

A crowd of children came toward her, clinging to her mother’s dress, all of them happy. Her mother stroked their hair.

“‘Mom, who are they?’ I asked. For the first time, she spoke — I heard her voice for the first time. It was beautiful.”

“‘These are your brothers and sisters,’ she said, and I was stunned. ‘But Mom, I don’t have any siblings. I’m your only child,’ I said. She answered, ‘No. You have thousands of siblings.'”

Then a child with no visible face approached. He took her mother’s hand, and she held it tightly — as if protecting him.

“‘Mom, who is this?’ I asked. She said, ‘This is your destiny.'”

They moved together to another place. Her mother knelt down and placed a necklace around Camille’s neck — she couldn’t see it, but she could feel it there.

They left that place and walked toward another room. The others entered first. Just as Camille stepped forward, her mother stopped her: “You cannot enter here, my daughter. You don’t have the key.”

Then the faceless child slipped a ring onto her finger. Her mother spoke once more:

“My daughter, find the key to open this door. Then find this child. Only then will you find everything you’re searching for.”

And she woke up.

Ali’s Silence and His Interpretation

Ali stayed quiet for a while, though he was smiling. Classic Ali — he lit a cigarette, sipped his tea. The rest of us, myself included, watched him closely as Camille nearly burst from waiting.

I couldn’t take it. I pinched his arm. “You impossible man, what are you waiting for? Are you trying to kill us with suspense?” I said.

“Patience. There’s a reason for the wait,” he said, smiling.

He finally began. “Camille, you saw your mother in a dream. She kissed you, you caught her scent, you lived through all of it,” he said.

“Stop torturing us and just interpret it already, we know what happened,” I said. Ali shot me a look and gestured for me to pray instead of complain.

“When you experienced this, it didn’t feel like a dream — it felt real, didn’t it?” he asked Camille. She nodded.

Here’s how Ali interpreted it:

– A mother kissing your forehead in a dream is a sign of spiritual closeness — she is pleased with you. Your mother is visiting you from the spirit world, from time to time.

– The scent of roses you smelled means your mother was a rare soul. Not everyone can catch that scent. You carry her legacy, and you’ll follow in her footsteps.

– The children beside your mother are the children she helped while she was alive.

– “You have thousands of siblings” points to a mission, a purpose given to you — one you’ll come to understand in time.

– The invisible necklace she placed on you represents the spiritual guides around you. The bond exists whether or not it’s visible; its invisibility only proves it’s spiritual, not material.

– Finding the key to the door is your spiritual journey. This part is a secret meant only for you — a discovery you’ll make with your heart, not your eyes.

– The faceless child is someone you’re bound to by fate. Your mother called him your destiny; he placed a ring on your finger. You need to find him.

“I don’t know who that child is. How am I supposed to find him?” Camille asked.

We all had the same reaction: how *did* she know it was him, the faceless child in her dream?

“That child is the one my mother died saving. She gave her own life to save him,” Camille said.

Camille went still, stunned by her own answer. Carrying the weight of the child her mother had sacrificed everything for — it was heavier than she expected.

“Camille, don’t blame that child,” Ali said. “If your mother hadn’t died saving him that day, she would have died another way, the same day. The day of her death was fate. The manner of it was an accident. Don’t blame the child.”

We all looked at each other — what a strange dream this was. I glanced sideways at my mother, Béatrice. Her eyes had welled up; she looked quietly heartbroken.

The State Between Sleep and Reality

“Ali, it felt like I actually lived it — like it wasn’t a dream at all,” Camille said.

“There’s a space between dream and reality. In Islam, we call it yakaza — a waking vision. I’m not sure what the equivalent is in Christianity. Then again, Lea, aren’t you agnostic?”

“I showed you what to do last night, and taught you the prayer to say before sleep.”

“However someone lies down to sleep determines where their spirit travels — the higher realms, or the lower ones. When you fell asleep, your spirit wandered the higher planes and met your mother’s spirit there.”

So it was both a dream and not a dream. Because you experienced it while sleeping, it felt like a dream to you. But because it was a state of yakaza, your spirit truly met hers — which makes it real, not imagined.

“In short, the spirit travels. If a person’s spirit is strong, and they go to sleep the right way, it wanders the higher, blessed realms — gaining knowledge, glimpsing what’s to come, or meeting the spirits of loved ones who’ve passed.”

“But if a person’s spirit is weak, or they go to sleep the wrong way, it wanders the lower realms — where demonic entities dwell — and what they experience becomes a nightmare instead,” Ali said.

Camille was floating on joy, having realized she’d truly reunited with her mother’s soul. I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around how that was possible.

“Ali, I can feel her beside me,” Camille said suddenly, her excitement rising again.

Nicole cut in. “Come on, Camille, that’s too much. It’s psychological — it’s the dream’s effect, and how much you miss her,” she said.

“No, she’s really here,” Camille insisted.

Ali rose calmly to get more tea. Then he said:

“No — your mother really is here, Camille. Right now, she’s on your right side, watching you, smiling. On Thursdays and Fridays, certain spirits are permitted by God/Allah to visit the people they love. But not every spirit.”

A Demonic Presence, or a True Soul?

Lea jumped in immediately. “So contacting the dead is real, then?”

Ali laughed. “No — there’s no such thing as calling spirits like that. What comes in those sessions is a demonic entity. They live for a thousand to three thousand years, so they know everything about the dead person and speak exactly like them. People are fooled — they think it’s their father, their mother, their sibling, their friend.”

“What happened here is different — this was a permitted, chosen soul. However you lived, however you died, there is a reckoning after. Camille’s mother must have been an extraordinary person — she did great good despite facing cruelty. And she died saving a child. God/Allah grants her that reward on Thursdays and Fridays.”

“But Camille matters here too. She’s good, just like her mother — her soul is beautiful. Otherwise, she couldn’t have had this dream, or felt her mother’s visit right now,” Ali said.

Then he added: “Still — only God/Allah knows the full truth. I’m only a person He created, speaking from the feelings He’s given me.”

All of us in that house are archaeologists — we’re used to history, to secrets buried deep. But this was something else entirely.

“Why are you all so surprised?” Ali said. “Out there, people believe in all kinds of nonsense theories people made up out of thin air. You believe in New Age nonsense without blinking. But you’re shocked that the God/Allah who created all of us would give us something like this?”

Joan of Arc and the Unseen World

He kept going. “Joan of Arc — France’s legendary young woman. Nicole, you’re American. The rest of you are from Belgium and France. Soline, your family came to Turkey a century ago, but you’re French by blood.”

“You’ve all read about Joan of Arc‘s life. Saint Michael wasn’t an angel. Saint Catherine, Saint Margaret — have you ever really stopped to ask who they actually were?”

“These three were real people who lived in the true age of Christianity, who read the true Gospel. Do you even know how they died? Didn’t Joan of Arc communicate with them? Could she have seen them — could they have come to her — without God/Allah’s permission?”

“Don’t trust what false history tells you. Go into the Vatican archives — you’ll find the hidden truths about this. Cases like Joan of Arc‘s, like Camille’s, are more common than you think. God/Allah has power over all things.”

“And let me say this too — don’t judge Joan of Arc by official records. She was so much more than you imagine. An extraordinary young woman,” Ali said.

Chloe cut in. “Sounds like you’re a little in love with Joan of Arc,” she teased.

Ali smiled. “If every man on earth saw what I’ve seen, knew what I know about her, they’d all be in awe of her. The same way I am of Rabia al-Adawiyya. Both of them suffered greatly. Both were pure of heart. They just fought their battles on different fronts.”

Open Your Heart, Change Your Dream

Ali went quiet for a moment, then continued:

“In the end, it’s all in our own hands. In a dream, anything is possible.”

If a person wants to have good, meaningful dreams, they need to take control of their own life.

If you’ve left your soul open and weak, what else could you dream but nightmares?

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