I dreamed I was inside a tornado’s eye, and it was silent

Not the roar—just stillness, like being in a glass dome. The clouds spun outside, but inside? No wind, no sound. Just me, standing on a field of black soil that felt warm underfoot. I reached down and pulled up a handful of dirt—it turned to ash as I watched. Then I looked up and saw my own face in the sky, not reflected, but written there, like a name carved into cloud. I didn’t feel afraid. Just… known. Woke up with rain tapping the window, same rhythm as the dream. Still don’t know if it was a warning or a gift.