I've been staying in studying most days for a week or so, so maybe I'm not getting enough fresh air. That might explain this.

Anyway, at the start of this dream, I was in a sort of indoor driveway. It looked just like my driveway, with the same gate we have at the end to keep the dog in. I was sat cross-legged, half-way down the drive, trying to come to a decision about something. I forget what.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, my inner angel and inner demon appeared. As if that wasn't enough, they'd obviously been out socialising a lot recently. They'd brought friends with them. Most of them were ugly little devils. And yet, I remember quite distinctly looking at them all, nodding courteous greetings, and knowing who they all where.

"Ah," thought I, "It's Dmmigh, my sense of fear..." Etc.

They all began discussing my problem. I wasn't directly included in the discussion, although I guess as they're part of me I was. My angel said something and they all nodded sagely and agreed. They'd come to a decision that all agreed on. Although they didn't communicate the decision to me directly, I instantly knew what it was - although I've now forgotten.

At this point, things got a bit more interesting. One of my friends appeared, and inquired as to why I was sat cross-legged in my drive talking to some demons.

"Who," he said, "The hell are that lot?"

I explained the situation and he nodded sagely. He didn't find it strange that I was talking to my inner demons. But then, it was my dream, and I'll damn well choose who finds me strange.

At this point the critters turned in unison to me, nodded curtly, and dissapeared. I heard a car on the street; it was my brother, come to collect me and take me home.

Now, it should be mentioned at this point that I was barefooted. As I walked towards the end of the drive, a thought struck me. It concerned demons and their exothermic tendencies. No sooner had I put my foot on the ground of where their circle had been, a seering pain scorched through my foot - the ground where they'd been was red hot. However, it seemed my friend was impervious to the pain - he simply walked out the drive, leaving the gate open. I leapt over the red hot ground, got into my brother's car, and went into town.


I suddenly came to be in a hospital room, dressed in the sterile whites of a doctor's work clothes. Only when I looked around did I realize that I was standing in a maternity ward, working alongside a patient who had been suffering a number of complications the least of which I knew nothing about. I go to the bedside, and see my mother the way she was in photographs twenty-five years ago, about four years before she met my father and five before she started having kids.

I ask one of the faceless nurses what's wrong, and she says back to me, "Laurann is going through labor, but the baby isn't coming out. We're not making any headway at all." To my side, the doctors prescribe drugs, the names of which point out to me that these concoctions are either thirty years from the future or fifty years from the past- none of them sounds even remotely familiar.

Flash forward some time, and I am watching my mother sit face down, her features green and straining against a mesh of leather straps, the tears running down her face speaking of the pain she is going through. My heart goes out to her, and I wish I could make the hurt go away.

Flash forward some more, and she speaks in a weak voice to a doctor who is pointing out one of the sources of her problem- a blood clot has formed in her neck, and if they are going to be able to deliver the baby safely, they're going to have to operate simultaneously. My mother, seeing nothing to complain about, agrees, and I walk away certain that you don't need to remove blood clots to deliver babies.
The Ghost of Terence McKenna

Before going to bed, a lot of Terence McKenna mp3s came up on the random shuffle. I'd also been listening recently to his brother Dennis on the Art Bell radio show. Especially after this dream, I'm realizing how much I miss this man (he passed away last year from a brain tumor), despite the fact that I never met him.

  • I'm invited by a new friend to a meeting of the psychedelic underground. It takes place in a sun-lit conference room at some resort hideaway. There, a man begins a speech, with a bandana masking the lower half of his face and a glittery black panel of molded plastic covering his eyes. He gives a stirring and uplifting talk on the power of psychedelics to transform society from the patriarchal, egotistic, self-destructive dominator style of the present to the communal, Gaia-conscious, egalitarian partnership-style of the transcendental future. After he refers to this as the Archaic Revival I am sure that I know who this masked prophet is. I would recognize that perpetually eloquent voice anywhere: it is Terence. After the meeting I talk to him and he confesses to have faked his own death in order to slip underground and organize the revolution. He un-masks himself and I stare at last into those brilliant blue eyes that stare so unwaveringly into the numinous and the unspeakable.
I awaken with a song in my head: Phish's "The Story of the Ghost".

Thanks, Terence. See you December 21, 2012.

i am riding in the car, along a road that could be any highway of any roadtrip my family has ever taken. it is dusk, and we are looking at things along the road. we saw shadows and tried to determine what made them. there are shadows of deer and other cars and trees and all sorts of things. then, randomly, there is a rainbow, at dusk! but it seems to be neon lights, even though it is a 'natural' rainbow.

suddenly, we are walking instead of driving, and my parents are different people, and i have two young siblings instead of the teenaged brother i really have. and we have a large dog of indeterminate breed, but i think part wolfhound part mastiff. our clothes are different--more oldfashioned somehow. but we are still looking at shadows.

suddenly there is a movement and a shadow. and we identify it as a mountain lion that just attacked a rabbit. we think 'wow' for a moment. then realize the implication. because it's a lion that's been menacing our livestock, and the surrounding families animals too.

we all lie down. it comes up, sniffs us. it looks to be raising a paw full of very sharp claws. but our dog threatens it, and the lion walks off. we are safe for the moment, but this cat cannot stay. it's a menace to all our livestock. so my father organizes a hunt. all the farmers bring their dogs, to the farm where it last killed. most are beagles and coonhounds. a few sheepdogs of different breeds. and quite a few mutts. but our dog is the largest, and most familiar with the lion, having met it before. he leads the pack. (dad is reluctant to relase him, he's a valuable dog, but there's no way the beast can be brought to bay by the other dogs, really. i insist, and he's let go.)

the yelps of the coursing hounds can be heard as they pick up the trace and vanish from sight. we hear them rise and fall as they get closer and further away. suddenly they are close again. and suddenly they are wellnigh on top of us. they, in fact, chase the cat into the barn. actually, the pack split in two, and half chase the lion. the other half are on the heels of a stag.

the barn is huge. cavernous and far too big for a real barn. the stag is chased into a pen where pigs usually are kept. the dogs bring him down slowly. the lion runs for the back of the barn. he inflicts much damage on many dogs. he too is eventaully killed, with the help of a human and a knife.

dogs are sorted out. many are bleeding, some seriously. but four are missing. two beagles, a sheepdog, and... our dog. a flash of intuition leads me back deep in the barn where i find one beagle--lost in the tangles of woodpiles and cobwebs. he is limping slightly, but OK. a second trip reveals the sheepdog, hurt more badly. with a good vet he may recover. but the other beagle and our dog are still missing. (the beagle will later show up at his home.)

there is a speech of the heroics of our dog and how he gave his life for his family. and it was probably true. he saved us from the lion that first time, and seemed to have a personal grudge against the beast when he set out to hunt it. but he was too brave and good a dog to leave be. we had to look for him. and so all the neighbors setout to help us look, to see if he was wounded somewhere along the hunt.

~my alarm clock went off at this point. the dog remained unfound and presumed dead, as an unpleasant buzz took the place of thisdream.~

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