It has been nearly three years since my last truly vivid and lucid dream. During the time in between there has been much that has fallen through the cracks and much that has been all but forgotten. You see, my dreams in the five years that followed my death were like a second world because they felt as alive as the waking world. For that they were disturbing but also affirmed the direction I was to take.
The return of dreams that are more than just snippets and fragments seems to be upon me. Full length and repleat with messages they have found a landing pad in my consciousness again.
My post-death dreams dealt with recurring themes, some of which returned as a kind of backdrop to last night's visions. While the dreams of the past were framed in a nearly idyllic scene, off in the woods with newfallen snow all around, the landscape had changed. In last night's dream, it felt like the end of life as we know it came to pass.
The city was a monster that stood strong amidst its own ruins. There was snow, but it was the crusty, filthy dirty and solid stuff no one particulary cares for. Tina, who had long ago directed me to Orlando appeared, but was quickly gone and had nothing to offer. She came back later and told me something curious.
"We don't have memories of past lives.
We are always in the past.
We have memories of future lives."
I lived huddled in a burned out building with dozens of others who were on the run from the troops that hunted us. The troops wore red uniforms. This connected them to the red riders who had hunted me in previous dreams, who wore armor, red capes, red sashes and had three pairs of wings. Always the enemy in these dreams, they are relentless in their pursuit. In the past they hunted a defiant unicorn. They would challenge me and mock me but never strike. Whenever they were about to strike, the dragon would come and drive them off. There is a connection between the dragon as my protector and the inability of the red riders to destroy me.
In the building amid the ruins of the city our only comfort came from a giant, cigar sized joint that would only be lit and smoked from by someone who was seriously hurt, very ill or soon to die. Then it would be extinguished again until the next time. We had no medicine and this was made clear when I watched a friend die from a gaping chest wound, screaming in pain. (No, this sort of stuff rarely wakes me up in these dreams).
In the end I received a message from a single red rider who warned me to "leave this place before we find it" and ran his sword along my jaw. I woke up and found the side of my face bleeding as if I had just experienced a small shaving accident.
The valley of hosts.
I don't know what the sign meant.