A Dream of Spiritual Death

Cycle of Life and Death

Last night I dreamed I was on the bottom floor of a house, or maybe it was a department store.

I was walking up the stairs, or coming up the escalator, and it was bright, and I was happy.

I arrived on a floor, the third floor, and it was pure darkeness – and this floor was my kitchen. Pitch blackness. I could feel the railing behind me, my way of escape, but I was there, and I knew something was in that darkness.

It was distant, and I wondered, then realized it had no physical form.

It was moving toward me in pieces, in tendrils of maleficent being. I heard a very faint laugh, a woman’s laugh, a sweet giggle of pure madness.

I saw nothing – but felt the tentrils form into a blackened head, which moved swiftly toward my own. I remained, and did not run. There was no fear.

She touched her forehead against my own, and I saw a vision of a blackened third eye, and a bindi, like a clitoris, and darkened skull.

It came into me, pointedly, and I accepted it. It passed into a great expanse, like the arch of the blue and clouded sky, that surrounded, filled and encompassed my interior – a vast area, yet so much unexplored – yet familiar.

It became so small – a tiny bucket of poison thrown into a boundless ocean, deepening beneath a boundless sky.

I sang to her in welcome, feeling her Will, as she dissolved into the air.