This morning I had what seemed to be the most meaning-laden dream. I dreamt that I was Superman, or had similar powers. Or was beginning to. There was this woman who (not to be misogynistic or anything–this is just how it happened!) was large and fat, and she controlled this town where I was living. She had an idol–a god–that was a machine, robotic, with a long neck that was kind of like a tunnel. She kept this idol inside of her house, and people would come to the outside of the house, to a window, if they wanted an audience with this god. And this the townspeople did–frequently.
She was rather persuasive, this woman “behind the curtain–shades of Wizard of Oz. It seemed like she exhibited a subtle form of mind control–nothing you couldn’t shake off if you tried, but if you wanted to believe she made it easy. I remember recalling in the dream that this woman was very self-righteous, even though she was deceptive.
Another detail: The outside of the house had a deck around it–a deck around the window where the “god” made its appearance. Two henchmen “priests” guarded each side of the window, and they arbitrated who and when people would have an audience with the robot. So it was these three–the woman and the two henchmenâ€”who perpetuated this racket upon the town.
It was worse than some empty religious racket, however. Every few people who would come up to counsel with the god, the woman would require their life as a human sacrifice. The idol would devour the person, swallowing them whole. The person would pass through its snaking neck and be deposited dead in the house one level down, in the basement. She would then dump the bodies in a large makeshift grave. An odd detail I recalled was that these people went to their deaths quasi-knowingly; she made them sign a consent form!
Somehow I– as “Superman,” but myself–was privy to all of this. I was sitting in the back with her one day (or maybe it was many days? I hope not), somehow under her influence. This room looked normal enoughâ€”it had a hardwood floor, a throw rug, some house plants, a lamp and a lazyboy recliner where the woman sat. I was rather docile, sitting next to her, taking it all in.
I snapped out of my tacit consent when her own daughter came to the front window to visit the idol, and the woman was going to take her life that day. I was furious. I told her I was going to destroy her whole operation, and bring it down around her ears. Her response was to hand me a sacrifice consent form–she wanted me to agree to die!
I shook that impulse off, and started pummeling her. She immediately cried out like an innocent victim of assault. “You’ve killed people!” I yelled at her.
Not all of my focus was on her; the house itself felt evil, and I knew that it and its god needed to be destroyed. I tried to burn the place down with my “heat vision,” but it was very weak. After much effort, I managed to ignite a small house plant, and I hoped that the fire would spread from there.
I turned back to the woman. I punched her in the face (Sheesh, this gets so violent. Readers take note: I would never hit a lady in real life!) and she feigned unconsciousness, large face-jowls hanging lifelessly. But I knew she was faking it, and said something to that effect, and she roared back angrily and animatedly, trying to overpower me. I told her that I was not going to kill her that she would have to answer to others for what she had done but that I was going to destroy this place. Somehow I neutralized her, and she was no longer a threat.
I began to punch and crack the walls, shaking the entire foundation. There were three levels to this house the basement where the bodies were kept, the main level that we were on, and an upstairs which contained a kitchen and several bedrooms where the woman had roommates. At this point some of the townspeople who had previously been under the power of the idol and the woman were “snapping out of it,” and they came to the house as allies to help me destroy it. I couldn’t do it alone. The new allies and I recall that most of them were African-American, were urging me not to finally destroy the house until we had gotten the roommates out upstairs, because they had no idea who this woman really was and they were sleeping. I agreed. The allies and I were standing in the kitchen, plotting the best way to rouse the roommates, when I woke up.
Valetine’s Morning, 2006–this is all I remember. Pretty bizarre, eh? What do you think it means?