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Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up on a bus that is packed full of young, well-dressed party-goers, and you’re in nothing but a fluffy bathrobe with a towel tied around your head? And it’s night time? And it’s New Year’s Eve? I was, two nights ago. Or at least I dreamed it. It was terrifying, because everyone was trying to peek under my bathrobe to see how fat I was. And then a man got on and handed everyone a piece of paper. It was a terrorist attack, and only half of the people on the bus would survive, based on what was written on the paper handed them. Mine said simply, “Die.”

I managed to flee the bus before it was set on fire, only to find myself in a mall. It’s one that I have been to many times, but never physically. I’m not sure it even exists. But I recognized it, nonetheless. I had to get to the other side of the mall, which (unlike other visits here) was also at the base of a very fancy hotel that was right on the ocean. I kept stopping to try to take pictures of the sunset from the scenic lookout rooms that were located at regular intervals. Every time I got to the far end of the mall, I was forced to exit and ended up right back where I entered it in the first place, with the bus still burning in the background. It was quite infuriating. At least on second entry I was clothed, although I can’t for the life of me figure out why I was wearing heels…

I must have walked the length of that friggin’ mall eight times.* Each time, I was still trying to take pictures, but every time I tried, a tsunami-worthy wave kept sweeping closer and closer, blocking the beautiful colours of the sunset. No one was concerned about the wave, however, so I kept going. The final time I walked it’s length, it was 11:30 and I had to find friends, or I’d be alone to start the year. I found the restaurant where everyone was, but it was being transformed into a fancy theatrical performance and I didn’t have a ticket. I exited the mall, one last time, and I ended up ringing in the new year, alone, wandering a dusty, dirt road (nowhere near an ocean) in daylight (even though it was midnight) looking for a patio.

And then it got strange…

*For the record, I hate malls. This part was equally as disturbing as the terrorist threat.

So the dream thing is pretty much taking on a life of its own…

Two nights ago, I had a dream about visiting a shrine to a religion that was far more akin to a cult than anything. It was a fabulous location, with about 500 steps leading up to the main shrine. It was called The Church of the Holy Shrine, and tours were available on every other hour. I arrived at the church by providence, since the directions to the place were completely inaccurate, as were the Google maps. Luckily, I recognized its magnificence. (Keep in mind, I am an athiestic/nature-pagany type person…) We all got out and stood in a very long line to take the tour. After hours, we got in and sat down to a very impressionistic video, followed by an invitation to attend a catered lunch.

I was with my parents, my fiance, and my closest friend. The nice thing was, we were able to take pictures together (on the edge of a precipice) in a very picturesque location. We looked fabulous.

At the lunch, people milled about, drinking wine (thank goodness for that) as we awaited the culinary celebration. Alas, there were more people than tables and anarchy ensued. [This is interesting, since the night before, I had dreamed of a sit down dinner at a fancy club with my parents, at which I was not allowed to sit with them. Instead, I was seated at a small coffee table with a yoga ball to sit on. I had one hell of a time to not roll under the table, and I never got any bloody food. But I digress….] Needless to say, no one ate.

Shortly thereafter, the person in charge of the religion/cult announced that the main event was about to start. We were to witness the most spectacular event in the history of religion. We were all on vessel very much like a ship, and we were violently tossed about as if we were in rough seas. As it turned out, we had been attached by a large crane, unseen by us as we were forced upon it. By the time someone stopped it, most of us had been thrown off. We were witness to the ship taking “sail” down the steps. It resembled a cardboard tank. Very odd…

When the “tank” rolled to the bottom of the steps, it hit water and exploded on impact. Most of the spectators didn’t survive. I did.

Fast forward to last night’s dream… I don’t remember a lot of the beginning. My consciousness starts at being trapped on the top of a hill that is akin to a painted desert hilltop. It’s dirt, only about 30 feet from the main land, and I’m in a car. It’s all quite hopeless, since it’s too far to jump, so, I have no choice but to force myself to slide down.

I think that’s the worst part of dream. I have no control. I can’t help where I fall, and where I land. Eventually, I do land. At the end of my own garden (which isn’t actually my garden). My legs won’t work and I have to haul myself (inch by inch) up an impossible hill.

Once I get there, I am on a familiar street (in dreams, but not reality) and I meet up with my mother. We decide to head home (?!?) and head down main street. It’s a busy street, with which I’m familiar (but never been in on real life – although I feel I know it intimately). I am barefoot, and stepping on every piece of glass and stone. My mum and I stop at a store to get shoes. None are to be had and so and I’m ushered out in the swampland. I can only travel though that for so long before I’m forced out into the streets again. This time, the sidewalks are paved with jagged stone and shards of glass. I am still barefoot, but have a mile yet to walk.

So there you have the latest weirdness. It’s getting weirder and weirder as time goes on.

Does anyone have any insight? Please share, if you do.

What the…

Weirder, and weirder, and weirder still…