Mental Travels (Dream Journal #1)

Last night I had a dream that seemed familiar in spite of its completely bizarre scenes.

My twin brother and I were on some kind of gondola, gliding down toward the earth across a vast distance.

We passed out of a city with skyscrapers and into a ruined land where giant snakes draped themselves over derelict structures that appeared ancient and arcane. I thought they looked like wingless dragons, these snakes hanging on buildings all around.

But eventually we passed out of the ruined city, and away from the colossal, sunbathing serpents.

We rode down across gray and muddy flats, barren of any trees or plants. By this time the gondola rode quite low, but there was no sign a station to stop at despite being able to see for miles. Our speed seemed great being low to the ground. We saw armored vehicles rolling slowly through the mud below, barely seeming to move in the mud, but heading the same direction as the gondola.

I’m a little muddled, to be honest, of the order of events after the mudflats.

I remember we glided to a stop in the evening, at a gondola station on the edge of the mudflats. The station was connected to a huge building with wooden roofs that sat at odd slanting angles, strange in relation to each other. When we went into this building we found it was full of reveling people of all descriptions in ragged clothing.

Though these people varied in appearance, they all had one thing in common. Each of them carried a shot glass of pure water. Though the building appeared to be the setting of a vast party, I saw no other beverages, and none of the revelers drank from their little glasses.

As my brother and I made our way through the party we gradually descended the halls until we came to a room that looked like a bar where people still carried their water glasses, but here they also drank wine and beer and other alcohol. Still, they never touched their water.

There was a cellar-door of sorts in the center of the barroom that led further downward. Despite the din of the barroom, I could hear still louder sounds through the reverberating floor at our feet.

Eventually, my twin and I descended the steps of the cellar door along with a crowd of revelers all drunk from the bar. I think I felt a chill and the sea breeze at a gate leading out from the broad stairway.

It was then we saw the source of the noise that shook the barroom floor.

Beyond the gate, the inebriated people from the barroom marched into a muddy battlefield formed beneath the shadow of huge wooden structure and the stilts that held it upright, embedded in the sea beyond the beach and in the surf of the sea. The drunken men and women were given weapons, spears and swords, and marched out in the red seafoam, fighting enemies whose nature I could not decipher.

They marched into the sea, and into the battle.

I don’t recall what my brother and I did after that. I woke up.

That was my dream last night. And yet I had a feeling I had dreamed it before. I cannot remember precisely when. But the ruins with the snakes and the mud flats felt familiar. It puzzles me.

Thanks for reading.


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