Dorothy Ford stood next to William Street inside his own church while a visiting priest performed their marriage rights.

It was November 27th of 1667 in Southpool, a village in Devon, England, and the church was packed.

Most people hadn't actually expected the wedding to take place so they'd all come out to witness the miracle.

They hadn't doubted it because William Street had been the rector of their own parish.

They hadn't doubted the couples love for each other or that street was 66 years old.

And they certainly hadn't doubted it because the original wedding date had been postponed.

They doubted it because William Street had died a year and a half earlier in a riding accident.

This funeral was followed by a series of community dreams.

Multiple people in Southpool began to have nightmares and all of them were eerily similar.

And each street himself would appear until then that he couldn't find peace.

Only his wedding could do that.

After months of this, with dozens of people reporting the same dream like to mans from the dead clergyman, the village relented.

The church was decorated for a wedding.

Streets, coffin, was exhumed, and Dorothy stood beside it while the priest married them.

Afterward, street was re-barried and the vision stopped.

Dreams are a funny thing, aren't they?

We don't always remember them when we wake up.

When we do, they often leave us feeling entertained and informed.

We see them as signs of things to come, of glimpses into treasured memories.

They often seem real enough that we hope for dreams of lost loved ones.

In our dreams, we might fly or travel the world, or run as if we're way steep in a pool of water.

But they aren't always a source of completion and peace.

...