Dreams: The Partnership of Trump & Obama

There are a few times in my life that I have had a dream that I have suspected were more than a dream; experiences that were with riddled with meaning and were not just the result of an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. Often these dreams leave me with undeniable symbolism, wonder, and meaning. This blog category is not about explaining these experiences, nor bragging about them. Rather, this blog category and the posts in it, are just about journaling those dreams that have been unforgettably vivid and meaningful. Maybe others will have insight, and perhaps others will be encouraged. In the least, I will be able to look back on them. This dream about the partnership of Trump & Obama happened April 15, 2025.

The Partnership of Trump & Obama

On the night of April 15, 2025, I dreamed that I received an invitation to Washington, D.C. from President Obama. Not current President Obama—he was long retired. In the dream, Donald Trump was serving a second term, but somehow he and Obama had struck up an unexpected friendship. Stranger still, Trump had extended an invite to Obama to work in the White House in some ambiguous role. Whatever the details, Obama was summoning me to join a conversation.

Katie and I traveled together to D.C., but it wasn’t the D.C. I knew. It had been transformed into a concrete jungle—something between a dystopian Times Square and a corporate prison. Towering screens, flashing lights, and grungy skyscrapers loomed over the streets. The city felt more like a surveillance state than a capital.

We made our way to a waiting room where we were to catch a train (I think) to the White House. The room was sterile white, lined with TVs and propaganda-style posters. One giant screen to my right showed a cartoonish, over-the-top action hero version of Trump—saving America from destruction like he was in a Die Hard movie. Suddenly, cartoon Obama joined him on this propaganda driven-cartoon. The announcer boomed that no hero had ever been more powerful than when joined by another strong sidekick. Together, Trump & Obama soared through patriotic chaos with a shared jetpack.

Eventually, my number was called. Obama had summoned me. Katie wasn’t allowed to join me, so I kissed her goodbye and promised I’d see her at home.

I was escorted to the White House by guards that reminded me of The Matrix agents—calm, silent, almost unreal (and with those weird things in their ear). They escorted me the whole way, without talking, and dropped me at Obama’s office. His office was enormous—50 or 60 feet wide, full of books, computers, sitting areas, and a partial folding room divider. As we made small talk, he excused himself to speak with his doctor via Zoom. I wandered the office. Behind the divider, I spotted more armed agents—and, I think, Trump himself. Obama quickly paused his conversation with his doctor and commanded me not to go back there again.

Complicated Symbolism

As I browsed his books and tried not to eavesdrop, I noticed his doctor was a Muslim woman. They were speaking Arabic. Subtitles began to appear on the screen—only for me, it seemed—and I could understand just enough. I remember thinking, “Wow. He really does have deep ties to the Middle East.” There was more than health being discussed, some greater plot for sure, but I couldn’t make it out.

Eventually, he ended his Zoom conversation, and our conversation began. For the life of me, I can’t recall what we talked about (the reason he brought me to the Whitehouse). What I do recall, is that afterward, he offered to drive me home in a Whitehouse owned limo.

We drove through a scene of chaos. It felt like Woodstock collided with political unrest. Political protesters and love-driven partiers surrounded us. At one point, a girl flashed the limo, and I looked away, trying to focus on the various items and decor inside the vehicle. Obama tapped my knee, grinning like a cartoon. “These are my people!” he said proudly.

But I felt out of place. I told him I needed to return to my family—where I belong.

I exited the vehicle and started walking. Somehow, I trekked all the way back to Pennsylvania—on foot, across woods and roads under a cloudy sky. I called Katie to let her know I was almost home, just running late for dinner.

Reflecting on the Dream

Even weeks later—now updating this on May 30—I can still feel the clarity and emotion of the dream. I’m not entirely sure what it means, but it feels symbolic. Maybe even prophetic.

I wonder if the dream is about power. About how even those on opposite sides of the political aisle are sometimes drawn to the same spotlight, the same stage, the same systems. Perhaps it’s a reminder that I wasn’t called to the center of such power but to the margins—to the quiet places, the overlooked roads, the slow walk back to dinner with my family.

Maybe the dream was an invitation to speak truth to power. Maybe it was a reminder to decline that invitation. Perhaps it’s just a nudge from God reminding me: You don’t belong in their limousine—you belong in the woods, walking home.