(I found this picture when I was pillaging the internet for art, and it was instantly reminiscent of the Stonehead in this following dream.)
I am in a black American chattel house with women who remind me of my friend Mandy and her mother. We are a house full of small animals, cats and dogs and rabbits. One of the animals darts away and out into the street. He is a small, black dog who reminds me of my small black cat, Lola le Fey. He is about to be struck down by the traffic, but at the last moment I manage to seize control of The Dreaming and slow down the oncoming slaughter so that he barely manages to escape to the other side of the street unharmed.
This is alternate dreaming reality number one.
Now I am in a black American red brick building, used for school, church and business. It is a compound for small kids and their adult caretakers. It is surrounded by woods and forests. In the back there is a quarry with cables suspended in the air over it that are transporting cargo freights. Then a man appears beside me. He is raw masculinity, pure, organic male. A natural fighter. A trained soldier. A perfect warrior. In the cargo freights suspended high about the air on the cables over the quarry we train for battle fighting imaginary obstacles and enemies together.
This is the alternate dreaming reality number two.
The warrior and I take a walk through the woods surrounding the compound. Beyond those woods is an open field on which a giant stone face sits with its mouth gaping open, and leading to the dome forming its head - mammoth and moss-covered. We make our way on the winding path of dirt and gravel towards its wide-opened throat, and we enter. To our left is a wall on the other side of which is a recessed pit falling down far below the ground level at the bottom of which is a pool of deep, dark, toxic green water in which reptiles of the same colour splash just beneath the surface, where I cannot see them, though I know what they are.
Further up the tunnel of throat, into the dome of head we walk, and we hear the murmurings of slaves, some near, others far off in the distance. They are gathering foods to cook, they are laboring on the open field, they are speaking in hushed undertones. We pass them and them us, but they do not see us. Now there is a rumbling. The earth is shaking. The stone head starts to crumble, but it does not collapse. Something is moving deep within it, deep beneath it, in the bowels of its brain, in the bowels of the earth. Suddenly there are huge, insurmountable boulders rolling down the winding path towards us.
The warrior and I leap into action, putting our training in the cabled cargo freights over the quarry to the test, scaling the wall and hanging upside down on the ceilings, using our chakra to defy gravity. The boulders pass but left in their wake is an evil aura, a menacing, murderous intent. Something has awoken. Something knows we are there. Something is coming and it is coming straight for us. I urgently tell the warrior that we have to get out of there while we still had the chance. We turn to run down the tunnel towards the open field.
The moment we near the forest surrounding the compound the earth outside the stone head explodes. From under the metropolis of domes enspiralled with winding paths and stairways and tunnels surrounding the Stonehead, a giant skeletal snake, made of stones and bones bursts forth from the earth, a raging roar blasting from its mouth. We have angered it, infuriated it. We have trespassed, and now it seeks our blood and death as the price, the boon to sooth it back to slumber and rest.
It pursues us through the forest. Our concern is for the children and their caretakers back at the compound. We arrive there at the same time as the snake. Everyone is frozen in fear by the share magnitude of it, its huge stone head opening, gaping, wide emitting another blast of a roar. My partner and I run around back to the quarry, hoping to hide inside of the cabled freights high in the air. But whether through smell, heat vision or whatever else, the large skeleton snake, a snake of bones and stones finds us always.
It pursues us from freight to freight, so giant that its head is inline with the freights despite their height in the air on the cables over the depth of the quarry. We run through our training regime, our obstacle course, this time fighting a real obstacle, a real enemy. We reach the last freight, the giant skeletal snake of stones and of bones bearing down upon us, when we are suddenly hurled without warning into alternate dreaming reality number one. On the same street as the near accident with the little black dog who looks like my little black cat Lola le Fey, as the black American chattel house, filled with women who remind me of my friend Mandy and her mother and small animals like cats and dogs and rabbits.
We are safe it seems for now, for the snake does not or perhaps cannot chase us in this world within The Dreaming, and so it ends.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Stonehead and the Giant Snake
The Red Girl and the Dark Panther
I am the Red Girl. I am red because I am wearing a red hooded coat, and so the Red Girl is what I am called. I am a waitress in a tavern, the walls are made of red clay brick and the interior is duskily lit from the lanterns’ lights’ muted glow, creating a cozy, bronzed atmosphere, almost as if we were in an underground cavern, deep within the earthen bowels.
I serve a tray of food to a man and his woman seated on the far right of the cavernous tavern, beneath a lantern light’s muted glow. On the tray is a dirty baby turtle. He is alive and wading in stew. He is adorable. To my horror the man plucks him out of the sauce and pops him into his mouth, commenting as he chews with his mouth full how delicious and succulent live, baby turtles happen to be.
Then he plucks the baby turtle out of his mouth, seemingly unharmed and still alive and offers me a taste. Naturally I couldn’t bear to eat anything alive, least of all something so cute, so I pop it into my mouth, with a sigh of relish and a rub of my tummy and a nod in thanks and walk back to the kitchen in the black back of the building before I remove it from my mouth and place it gently on the kitchen floor.
To the far left of the tavernous cavern, lit by the light of the lanterns’ glow throughout the room is a thick, heavy wooden door, held to the wall by a thick, heavy, corded rope. Releasing the knot that kept the door shut, I slipped outside of the tavern into the shadows of the beyond night. Here it is like a junk yard but without the junk, just mounds and piles and heaps and stacks of rock and rubble and stone intermittently peopling an otherwise empty space.
It is here, to the far left, in the deepest shadows, I espy a silhouette of a large, cat, a dark cat … The Dark Panther. He has sighted me. He is now slowly, slowly, slowly coming. I run back to the thick, heavy wooden door, yank it open and make to retie the rope. But the rope is no longer there. There is now a string, thin, light, weak string, that couldn’t possibly hold the weight of the door closed to the wall.
I try valiantly to bind the door closed with the flimsy, fragile twine, knowing that with each passing moment the dark panther, made of shadows, made of menace, was nearing the door, nearing my doom. The door keeps slipping open as the corded string keeps slipping loose. He is here. He is behind the door. His intent is overwhelming. I can feel his breathe through the cracks of the wood. His strength is my weakness.
Suddenly he rears up and what was a mere moment ago an animal is now a man, yet retaining his bestial being, his primal, instinctive essence. Now I am on the outside, on the other side of the door. Now he is slamming me against the thick, heavy, wooden wall of it, just as he slams his tongue into the depths of my open mouth. I feel plunged into, I feel wrench away from myself to float in the mindless, sense-full, rapture of the moment. His eyes echo eternity as they behold me and I am flung without ceremony from The Dreaming.
