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I just woke from a very strange/chaotic/crazy dream. It was as if I was dreaming in twelve dimensions. Trying to explain the dream will be.. interesting.
I was being hunted, and other people I was trying to protect were being hunted, too, and the world of art was in danger. Reality itself was some kind of multidimensional art exhibit, the very existence of which was being threatened by bizarre dimensional rifts--reality was being spliced and melded--morphing--constantly transfigured. People were dying everywhere, as we were in the midst of a world war (I)? People were dying horrifying deaths in the trenches, their souls meeting tortured ends. One woman died in a central room in an auspicious building with high art all around (some building in Wash. D.C.?), and her eyes were turned up slightly toward the small murals above an entryway to the room as she died; and some nobles saw this as very auspicious for her soul, and there was a look of peace about her face, and even possibly bliss, right before life left her body. (Who was she?) But for those dying out in the noisy, chaotic horror of the trenches... they saw no such peace or bliss before their ends.
Reality was morphing and changing so rapidly that I soon saw we were no longer in the normal world. It became very difficult (impossible, really) to know what was going on, in the most fundamental terms (where am I? why was reality changing so rapidly? what is our mission again (are we at war)? why is reality changing so rapidly? What is causing the simultaneous, multidimensional overlapping? What is pursuing us?
There would be these long, black shafts with white highlights that would split reality, with many other morphing realities pealing off of the shafts, sprung into existence out of the white highlights, ever morphing, and then leaving, and then returning, but ever changing, ever coming and going into reality. But the evil pursuing us was everywhere, and we were battling it on all fronts, from all angles, and through all dimensions. And the realities of the new dimensions were so new and foreign to me, and everything was happening simultaneously, and changing so rapidly, that I lost all orientation to reality, but somehow in the chaos we were, inexplicably, able to fight on, to keep our wits, and to keep at bay that formless, dimensionally shifting force that was trying to destroy us and the world.
At times we'd be crouched in a hallway, shooting at a formless foe that would seem to disappear as quickly as it would appear. Then we'd be running up a wide, turning staircase made of white stone, pursuing the ever-elusive enemy.
But as the multidimensional realities came crashing together simultaneously, and as things were ever speeding up, we found ourselves no longer in physical space, but constantly transmuting through the different shifting realities that were themselves transmuting; and our hands were no longer manipulating instruments of war; but instead we waged battle with our minds, which seemed to be opened up to receive the ever quickening realities and, somehow, in this way we were able to combat the swift and formless enemy.
We found ourselves flung haplessly along the black shafts of twisting reality, swiftly swept through them and into new realities; and all around, and in all directions I could see the different dimensional planes shifting and transmuting, and it seemed as though we could dodge the enemy by quickly transferring from one dimension to another, and in this same way could quickly counterattack; and at times we'd be delivered up, and splintered light would, for a moment, split the gloom, and for the briefest of moments there'd be calm and clarity, and I'd feel as though somehow we had won a small victory against the void, and then we'd be plunged back into darkness and chaos, swirling desperately about, fighting as though blind, and on all fronts. But again, moving ever more quickly between the dimensions, we continued to fight the formless foe; no time to question what is, no time to try to make sense of reality (realities), no time to try to understand how to fight, or flee, no time, even, for fear or hope, except ever so fleetingly. The only option before us was to trust our ever-quickening instincts, or be blasted into oblivion; and in our perceiving of each new reality, the faster things were happening, the more we had to let go and receive the new realities in order to be able to fight within them; and always I felt as though I was teetering on the edge of annihilation within the increasing chaos.
In this way the battle raged on, ever quickening, ever more chaotic; not so much ebbing and flowing, but ever changing, ever changing, never the chance to gain our bearings, never the chance to adapt to a new reality, each one like a curve ball being flung towards us in rapid succession, ever fighting and dodging an enemy that was everywhere, yet nowhere to be seen, and as things quickened, the realities were morphing and changing so rapidly that everything became a swirling blur, and all actions now reactions, given totally to the changing realities, to instinct, to trust in the universe: to the realization that trust in the universe to guide us through the chaos is the only way to see such chaos through to its eventual end.
And then, as though when the eyewall of a hurricane moves overhead, reality became a single thing again, and there was only one reality once again, and how simple, calm and peaceful the normal world was again as compared to the utter chaos we had suddenly found ourselves delivered from. And I perceived that the war was over, for the enemy was no longer in our midst, and calm was all around. In the chaotic whirlwind of the battle, we had outlasted the enemy; it had consumed itself up in its ever-quickening chaos, unable to sustain its dimensional rifting.
And even as I write this account, time passes very quickly.
I was being hunted, and other people I was trying to protect were being hunted, too, and the world of art was in danger. Reality itself was some kind of multidimensional art exhibit, the very existence of which was being threatened by bizarre dimensional rifts--reality was being spliced and melded--morphing--constantly transfigured. People were dying everywhere, as we were in the midst of a world war (I)? People were dying horrifying deaths in the trenches, their souls meeting tortured ends. One woman died in a central room in an auspicious building with high art all around (some building in Wash. D.C.?), and her eyes were turned up slightly toward the small murals above an entryway to the room as she died; and some nobles saw this as very auspicious for her soul, and there was a look of peace about her face, and even possibly bliss, right before life left her body. (Who was she?) But for those dying out in the noisy, chaotic horror of the trenches... they saw no such peace or bliss before their ends.
Reality was morphing and changing so rapidly that I soon saw we were no longer in the normal world. It became very difficult (impossible, really) to know what was going on, in the most fundamental terms (where am I? why was reality changing so rapidly? what is our mission again (are we at war)? why is reality changing so rapidly? What is causing the simultaneous, multidimensional overlapping? What is pursuing us?
There would be these long, black shafts with white highlights that would split reality, with many other morphing realities pealing off of the shafts, sprung into existence out of the white highlights, ever morphing, and then leaving, and then returning, but ever changing, ever coming and going into reality. But the evil pursuing us was everywhere, and we were battling it on all fronts, from all angles, and through all dimensions. And the realities of the new dimensions were so new and foreign to me, and everything was happening simultaneously, and changing so rapidly, that I lost all orientation to reality, but somehow in the chaos we were, inexplicably, able to fight on, to keep our wits, and to keep at bay that formless, dimensionally shifting force that was trying to destroy us and the world.
At times we'd be crouched in a hallway, shooting at a formless foe that would seem to disappear as quickly as it would appear. Then we'd be running up a wide, turning staircase made of white stone, pursuing the ever-elusive enemy.
But as the multidimensional realities came crashing together simultaneously, and as things were ever speeding up, we found ourselves no longer in physical space, but constantly transmuting through the different shifting realities that were themselves transmuting; and our hands were no longer manipulating instruments of war; but instead we waged battle with our minds, which seemed to be opened up to receive the ever quickening realities and, somehow, in this way we were able to combat the swift and formless enemy.
We found ourselves flung haplessly along the black shafts of twisting reality, swiftly swept through them and into new realities; and all around, and in all directions I could see the different dimensional planes shifting and transmuting, and it seemed as though we could dodge the enemy by quickly transferring from one dimension to another, and in this same way could quickly counterattack; and at times we'd be delivered up, and splintered light would, for a moment, split the gloom, and for the briefest of moments there'd be calm and clarity, and I'd feel as though somehow we had won a small victory against the void, and then we'd be plunged back into darkness and chaos, swirling desperately about, fighting as though blind, and on all fronts. But again, moving ever more quickly between the dimensions, we continued to fight the formless foe; no time to question what is, no time to try to make sense of reality (realities), no time to try to understand how to fight, or flee, no time, even, for fear or hope, except ever so fleetingly. The only option before us was to trust our ever-quickening instincts, or be blasted into oblivion; and in our perceiving of each new reality, the faster things were happening, the more we had to let go and receive the new realities in order to be able to fight within them; and always I felt as though I was teetering on the edge of annihilation within the increasing chaos.
In this way the battle raged on, ever quickening, ever more chaotic; not so much ebbing and flowing, but ever changing, ever changing, never the chance to gain our bearings, never the chance to adapt to a new reality, each one like a curve ball being flung towards us in rapid succession, ever fighting and dodging an enemy that was everywhere, yet nowhere to be seen, and as things quickened, the realities were morphing and changing so rapidly that everything became a swirling blur, and all actions now reactions, given totally to the changing realities, to instinct, to trust in the universe: to the realization that trust in the universe to guide us through the chaos is the only way to see such chaos through to its eventual end.
And then, as though when the eyewall of a hurricane moves overhead, reality became a single thing again, and there was only one reality once again, and how simple, calm and peaceful the normal world was again as compared to the utter chaos we had suddenly found ourselves delivered from. And I perceived that the war was over, for the enemy was no longer in our midst, and calm was all around. In the chaotic whirlwind of the battle, we had outlasted the enemy; it had consumed itself up in its ever-quickening chaos, unable to sustain its dimensional rifting.
And even as I write this account, time passes very quickly.