Friday, 20 August 2004

mystical dreams

I was visiting my father. I had travelled through the night to get there as I was on duty until the evening before. He was busy, but made some time to see me as he was looking at maps and organising troop movements. Their camp was primitive and dark, in a mountainous area.

He had no answers for me, urging me to continue with my duties. I left with my questions unanswered and started back down the forest paths to my station.

As I came up to a join in the paths, through the drizzle and the fog I saw another party, on foot and horseback, approaching along the other track. I stepped back in to the shadow of the trees so that they wouldn't see me. I did not wish to engage in any sort of conversation. However, I saw that the party had drawn to a halt, and someone was pointing towards me. Someone came over to me, and drew me out of the shadow.

I saw that there were other beings in the party as well as the human soldiers. There were two of them, on horseback, wearing long cloaks that came down to the horse's knees. They had sensed me in the shadows.

I joined their party. They were travelling along the path through the forest, with some soldiers carrying a litter with a strange object on it, that glowed dimly red in the darkness. We were on a pilgrimage of some kind.

We came to a bridge over a chasm. Beside the bridge, someone had pinned up notices about the other beings, denigrating them. The leader of the party was afraid that the beings with us would understand the notices and be angry. I heard my father's voice in my head, saying "Think on your duty, Tom". I tried not to think about the notices.

One of the beings got off his horse and sat crosslegged before the notices, obviously reading them. I felt a great sense of relief that I did not need to hide my thoughts. The being smiled at me.

And then I woke up ....

Wierd. All the time I was dreaming there was a very deep sense of mystery.

Then I went back to sleep and dreamt that B was riding around the house on a fake ostrich, a la Bernie Clifton, which certainly required a mental gear-change, if not a divorce.

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