I took this picture in the fall of 2004. It was my first trip to the nameless cemetery. You can barely make out Sara. We were location scouts for a production company looking for serene rolling hills for a low budget zombie thriller. Somewhere between Little St. Louis and Frenchtown, Indiana, Sara and I drove past this graveyard and stopped to watch the sunset. We walked around, took some pictures, and promptly got back into the car to warm up. I remember Sara making the remark about how surreal our moments outside seemed because of the ominous sky and lone tree. I neglected to mark our GPS coordinates because we were looking for more of a farm setting for the movie. Because of that, I’ve never been able to find my way back… in my waking life, that is.
My name is George and I have visions. I decided to start this blog for several reasons, one of which comes from my therapist. She wants me to write about my “other” life that’s been running through my head. And I feel like: why keep the writing to myself, especially since these visions seem to be leading to something… and by “something,” I mean specifically buried treasure. Now if I was reading someone else writing this, I’d probably stop right now and either laugh or move on or both. This is crazy, right? I mean, I sound completely out of gourd! Well maybe I am. But here’s the thing: Sara — remember the woman who was with me at the cemetery? — well she was having the exact same dreams as me. Once we figured out we were both having visions we sort of jointly freaked out but also celebrated… it meant neither person was losing it. We compared all of the major details: the graves, the clues, the tree… and all of the signs pointing toward buried treasure.
We began keeping logs of our dreams. Night after night, we’d separately record what we could remember and then compare notes. The only thing different was the language we’d chosen to convey what had transpired. We began following the clues (more on this in a minute) in our “real” life to see if they truly led to treasure. Then, without a trace, Sara vanished. That’s when I got the therapist. It’s been several years since her disappearance. My dreams have faded (literally). And all I’m left with is a bunch of jotted down dream journal notes. And oh yeah, I never found any treasure.
And that leads me to the next reason for starting this blog: to share what I know. Maybe this thing exists and maybe it doesn’t. But in honor of Sara’s memory, two heads are better than one… so if you’d like to help, please keep reading and see what you figure out. I no longer care about any treasure. I just seek the truth.
