My Dreams, PART the second.

A gang of kids, teenagers that is. We’re walking through a city, downtown. There are no people here, and no lights. Who we are as a group and our purpose walking here is entirely unclear. There is one girl though, she is our leader, and she knows the way. She leads us down a set of stairs similar to those leading to subway stations. A big door at the bottom bars our way. It is massive, iron, and has an impossibly complex lock. Our leader knows exactly the sequence to open it, and she makes no mistakes or hesitation in doing so. Inside, there is a large hallway, that goes straight as far as we can see. We start exploring it; it is dark, and there are a few rooms opening off of the hallway. There are not doors to these; they are not rooms per se, they are long and slender, one has a sink and some tubs, like a kitchen or laundry room. The entire hallway and all these rooms are dirty and dark, as though they have been uninhabited for many years. There is plenty of clutter about. We explore the hallway. Towards the end, it begins to open up. We can see sunlight through a big, but open, structure. It is a parking garage. It opens up to the sky, but the bottom levels blend seamlessly into our hallway. Quick, hide! The police are in the parking garage, we can see their flashing lights and cars. Everyone scatters, back towards the door. I hide under the kitchen sink with one other kid, whom I have not yet seen specifically. We tell stories in this comfortably tight place for hours, waiting to be discovered by the police or set free to go home by our compatriots. No one ever comes, but we are happy.


Me, Alex, and JT were exploring this small, two story white house. We were in the second floor, which was only one floor. The room was full of ambient light from the numerous windows. It was dirty and cluttered, full of broken wood and rubble. The front of the house has a strong, black-shingled overhang over the front door. There is a window immediately above this. We are aware of a something, a monster, climbing this overhang, about to enter through the window. Someone gets a piece of wood and makes ready to kill it as it enters. But stop! It’s a policeman, run! We drop our things and flee to another window. Alex and JT jump to the ground, they are fine. I jump-and die. This feeling is indescribable, and I know I will do it no justice conveyed here. Nevertheless. I learn intuitively that I have time to spend with Alex and JT before I leave. We walk down the street with big green trees along the side, in a nice friendly neighborhood (no one is around, it is simply a visibly friendly neighborhood). We are in a big building, full of chairs and bookshelves, just like a bookstore. It is clean and warm and welcoming and we spend hours there, enjoying each other. The carpet and walls, and everything there is colorful, yellows and reds and some greens and blues, in a pattern that is not unusual, something similar to things I’ve seen before. Colors are organized in various shapes and sizes, in an irregular pattern. The feeling of inevitability here is not sad, but. . .appropriate? There is no anger, sadness, or anything of the kind. Time is not felt as slipping away. Only happiness, tinged with an odd feeling of . . .? It is like the cosmic flow of things. There is no emotion regarding this passage, but it feels very cosmic. This is not meant in an “infinity of the universe” sort of sense, but in a sort of mythic death ritual cosmicness. This is the most profoundly spiritual experience I’ve ever had.