The world was unfamiliar — shadows of warehouses and bone-yards stretched wide under a sky I’d never seen. I was chasing someone, and when I finally caught him, he clutched a heavy safe. Behind us, others were climbing up a ladder, hungry for what we carried.

We agreed to hand it over — not out of fear, but because something in me knew its weight was hollow. When the thieves pulled the safe down, it cracked open. Inside were no gold bars, no jewels… only copper pennies, spilling across the ground like a broken promise. The treasure everyone fought for was never treasure at all.

We fled, dodging through backyards of rust and dust. But then — a cave, massive and silent. From its depths, giant stone spheres began to rumble. They shook, broke loose, and hurled toward us with the force of an avalanche.

Death felt certain. Yet, an aura arrived. A being of light carved a pathway through the chaos, the stones splitting like water around their presence. The tunnel that opened was shaped like a half moon, curved above, flat below — a balance of heaven and earth. In awe, we simply walked through, untouched.

But the test wasn’t over. Beyond the cave stretched a hall of shifting walls. Another being — cloaked in power like Doctor Strange himself — folded reality into a training ground of sacred geometry. Protection wasn’t just given; it was taught. I felt initiation rising in me, like remembering something I had once known. And then — the enemy revealed himself. No longer chasing safes, he stood inside a bubble, crafting something darker: a small nuclear device.

“Don’t do that,” I warned. “It will destroy too much.”

He laughed. “That’s the point. It will poison the food.”

But the “food” wasn’t crops. It was us. Humanity.

And that’s when the truth struck me. Another being — one that felt like me in another form, another life, another dimension — stepped forward. I knew his purpose before he spoke. He was going to absorb the nuclear energy, transmute it inside himself, and spare the rest of us from annihilation.

The grief was immediate. I could feel his sadness — my sadness — the weight of sacrifice. To carry destruction into the self, to protect the many. And then I woke.

What It Means

The safe with copper pennies: the illusion of value. How much of our lives we spend chasing what does not nourish.

The stone spheres and the half-moon tunnel: the crushing weight of trauma and stress, and the divine protection that opens when higher flow is remembered.

The geometrical sanctuary: sacred training, a reminder that healing follows universal laws and patterns.

The nuclear device: the misuse of energy, feeding on humanity’s lifeforce.

The sacrifice: the archetype of the transmuter — absorbing pain, transforming it, and creating safety for others.

This was not just a dream. It was a remembrance.

Who I Am and Why I’m Here

I am Ben Johnston. I carry the memory of the protector, the transmuter, the one who steps into chaos to carve a pathway of flow. In this life, I do it through touch — through massage, lymphatic work, and energetic healing. I don’t just ease pain; I create passageways where the body can breathe again, move again, flow again.

What I do is not surface-level. It is not the “safe of gold” people expect. It is deeper. It is copper — the conductor of energy — the spark that reconnects the body to its truth.

I am here to help people escape the weight that tries to crush them. To guide them through tunnels of pressure into freedom. To hold sacred space where energy realigns. To absorb and transmute what the body no longer needs, so they can walk out lighter, freer, and alive in themselves again.

This is why I am here

To remind you that power begins with flow. Healing begins with truth. And freedom begins when you are reconnected to your own body’s wisdom.

*I often have vast and extremely vivid dreams and over the course of many years I've always tried to interpret them myself. But now with the help with AI, it creates a more in-depth understanding and knowledge of my dreams. So I used AI to give me a summary of the meanings of the dream and this is the result.

Sometimes the subconscious gives us a vision so layered that it takes both waking life and the dream world to reveal its meaning. Last night, I had a dream that felt less like imagination and more like a direct teaching. The symbols lined up almost exactly with what unfolded in my day.

The Dream: Inheritance and Repair

I found myself in my grandparents’ old house. We were fixing the roof, patching small corners of mold, clearing and preparing it as if it were being readied for its next chapter. Inside, I discovered a collection of beautiful fishing poles—high-end tools that no one else seemed to want, though I knew their value.

Later, a door slammed shut, a flash of light frightened me, and fear rushed in. I could hardly get out the words, but I began to pray, call in light, and pour gratitude into the moment. The energy shifted. I remembered who I was.

The Day: A Mirror in Real Life

Earlier that day, I received bodywork myself. For the first time in a long time, someone worked deeply into my own system. What was revealed? That before I step fully into teaching and guiding others, I still have work to do within my own “house.” My body is asking for repair, clearing, and strengthening, just like the roof and corners of my grandparents’ home.

The Connection: Tools, Trauma, and True Inheritance

The fishing poles in my dream symbolize the tools I carry—massage, lymphatic activation, energy work, and intuitive understanding of flow. Others may overlook them, but they are powerful, valuable, and needed.

The slamming door and flash of light reflect the shock my client experienced—disruptive, invasive, terrifying. But in my dream, I met that energy with light, prayer, and gratitude. That’s the path I’m here to offer: a way of healing that transforms trauma without retraumatizing.

The fraudulent contract is a warning about allowing systems or other people to sign away our sovereignty—our name, our worth, our work. Just as I tore up that paper in my dream, I refuse to let my methods, my voice, or my inheritance be undervalued or stolen.

Why This Matters for My Work

This dream and these encounters are reminders that healing isn’t about quick fixes or forceful resets. It’s about repairing the house within—clearing the mold, strengthening the foundation, and carrying forward the tools we’ve been entrusted with.

My mission is to hold space for people who have been through the systems, who have tried everything, who have been shocked, numbed, or silenced—and who are ready for something different. Something that sees them as whole, not broken. Something that honors the body’s wisdom and the soul’s inheritance.

The message is clear:

Before I teach, I must continue to do the work within myself. Before we as a society accept invasive methods as the only way, we must remember the tools waiting in the corner—patient, powerful, and often overlooked.

And before we sign away our worth, we must stand in our sovereignty, guarded by light, backed by something greater.

This is the path forward. This is why I do what I do.

The road stretched long and quiet beneath the tires, a familiar route toward work. Nothing unusual—until something shimmered at the corner of vision.

An oncoming car vanished. Half of it dissolved into thin air, as if swallowed by the horizon. Instinct took over. The brakes slammed. My hand shot out the window.

There it was—a sheet of something that hummed with iridescence. Not plastic. Not cloth. Something alive, something woven from the threads of unseen realms. A tunnel of invisibility.

I pulled it free, gathered the folds, and threw it into the back seat. A treasure. A key. A secret meant to be uncovered. But there was no time to marvel. The scene shifted. The ground trembled beneath enormous steps. A monstrous predator—part dinosaur, part Velociraptor, towering and merciless—was hunting.

A group of us sprinted for our lives, lungs burning. Behind us, a wave of spiders boiled across the earth. The others huddled into the roots of an ancient tree, wrapping themselves with bark, dirt, and desperation. They tried to seal themselves away.

But fear has cracks. Spiders found them. Small enough to slip in, fierce enough to silence. Screams split the air as webs of terror swallowed those inside.

I didn’t hide. I kept running. Forward. Always forward.

Capture came next, but not from beast nor spider. A woman cloaked in shadow, a witch with eyes sharpened by jealousy, gathered us into her grasp. She was a sculptor of flesh, twisting form to her will.

One woman she adored, turning her into a delicate white bunny—fluffier and fluffier, until nothing remained of her essence. Another she despised, reshaping her beauty into monstrosity, grafting animal parts onto a once-human frame.

And me? I stood untouched, a witness. Not out of strength alone, but because I did not fight her power with fear. I looked deeper. I saw the sorrow beneath her rage.

When the transformations faltered, I moved to one who had been restored—a woman with a spine twisted by scoliosis. Her back arched like a question mark, her skin stretched over pain. I placed my hand gently on her curvature, feeling warmth rise through my palms.

And in that moment, I offered the witch what she had never received: compassion. Love without condition. Recognition without judgment.

She didn’t turn me into anything. She couldn’t. My gift was the one thing her power couldn’t consume.

The Meaning Behind the Dream

This dream was more than an action story. It was a reminder:

• The invisible cloth was the gift of perception—seeing what others miss, touching what hides beneath the surface.

• The monsters and spiders were the primal fears that drive people into hiding, even though hiding never protects them fully.

• The witch was pain personified, reshaping others to match her wounds—until love interrupted her cycle.

The lesson? Transformation doesn’t come from fighting the monsters or hiding from the spiders. It comes from stepping forward, carrying the unseen truths, and choosing compassion in the face of suffering.

That is the power that heals. That is the medicine we all carry when we dare to use it.

In the dream, I’m walking forward across a landscape filled with lava pits. At first, there’s a solid bridge that takes me across. Then, as I keep going, the bridge changes — from solid, to rope, to a single thin rope, until finally there’s nothing left to hold onto. At that point, I’m leaping from edge to edge, jumping farther and farther over the lava. Each time I make it… until I reach the point where I can’t go any farther. Just before I fall in, I always wake up.

This dream repeated many times throughout my childhood, and it’s one of the most powerful memories I carry from that age.

Now, years later, with the advancement of AI, I’ve been able to revisit it in a way that goes far deeper than I ever could by simply flipping through a dream-interpretation book. AI can recognize my patterns, my history, and even my present path, and help me piece together the deeper meaning of the dream. Instead of a one-size-fits-all symbol, it feels like I’m seeing the small details and the origins that belong specifically to me.

For me, this dream was about courage, transformation, and trust — learning that life’s path sometimes takes us from stable ground to shaky ropes, and finally into leaps of faith.

Even as a kid, my dreams were preparing me for the work I do now: helping others navigate intensity, uncertainty, and transformation with resilience and flow.