Stephen Fry and I discovered a portal to Hell in my bedroom closet. (If you don't know who he is... he's a British actor that's been in a lot of stuff, you'd recognize him.) I had some kind of psychic flashback to the past where an eccentric scientist (that looked suspiciously like Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein) put together some kind of concoction and poured it down a drain. The concoction was so corrosive it burned a big hole where the drain used to be. And it just kept on burning the hole bigger and deeper, until it reached Hell.
Eventually the portal was attempted to be closed off, covered up, and the laboratory turned into a small bedroom and the house sold like nothing ever happened. Except that I had been experiencing some suspicious paranormal activity and enlisted the help of Stephen Fry (who, in my dream is a apparently a paranormal investigator) and he traced the activity to the closet and found a fake wall and behind that fake wall was the seal on the the portal and when we ripped it off, we reopened this drainpipe to the netherworld. And a huge dark blue/black energy beam shot out of it, blasting through the ceilings and up into space (kind of like that plasma drill in the latest Star Trek movie, but in reverse. And evil.)
We realized at this point that things were beyond the scope of our expertise and we decided that the best course of action was to get the hell out of there.
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It was thundering last night. My mother told me when I really little that thunder was "the angels bowling", which even at age 3 or 4 I recognized as total bullshit.
In my half-waking dream, the thunder sounded odd,and it was because it really was the angels bowling. They were in some kind of league competition and they were really into it. When they did poorly they couldn't curse but they did a lot of "arrghs" and "doh!s"
Eventually I got tired of the noise because it wasn't getting quieter like a normal thunderstorm would, and it wasn't just the 'thunderous' sounds but also their cheering that was annoying me. I tried leaning out the window to shout up at them but they couldn't hear me. Or pretended not to hear me.
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The other night I woke up crying, because I had a bad dream that my fiance was joking around with me about my, er, sexual past. He was insisting that I answer "How many times, since you became a Lady, have you lain with a man?" Like it was the year 200 or something. Then he insinuated that he was going to cut off one of my fingers for each partner. The joking around seemed to have taken a dark turn and I started crying and told him he was scaring me.
Whenever I tell him about dreams like that, he says "God, why I am such an asshole in your dreams?" I try to reassure him that it's not him, it's just that my brain believes deep down that everyone is out to get me.
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There is a pond near the center of town that is fairly scenic. Years ago we had an eccentric neighbor who was a photographer. Specifically a boudoir photographer. Which we strongly suspected he "specialized" in simply because he was voyeuristic. He had no photography training,he simply bought a pretty good camera, took a gazillion pics, picked out the best ones and then applied a few Photoshop filters. He was kind of odd but also kind of wise. We deemed him harmless and liked hanging out with him. We called him "our friendly neighborhood pornographer." (All this stuff is true, not a dream.) The pond by the center of town is a manmade pond, in the industrial age they dammed up a creek, which in turn created the pond and the dam provided some power for the factories they built next to it. As you walk along the street by the pond, you can peer over a rail and see the little dam, and water rushes over it and the flows under the street and then past the old factory buildings. I guess that part of the street is technically a bridge, kinda.
Our friendly neighborhood pornographer liked hanging out there, looking over the rail down at the dam and watching the water rushing beneath him. He always said "God lives under the bridge." He didn't seem like a particularly religious person, and it seemed like a strange place for God to hang out, but he insisted.
In my dream, there was a church right in the center of the pond. It was old and beautiful. It looked a bit more like a theater house than a church building. There was a little ferry boat that shuttled people back and forth. One night I was walking by the pond and it was just turning from dusk to night, and the church's windows were lit up and I could see people standing around in front of it, and the ferry was doing its thing, and it was really beautiful. In my dream, it had been there all my life but I had never visited it. (Just like how a lot of people have never visited the tourist attractions in their own backyards. Or least I haven't, anyways.)
(The dream imagery reminded me of the time I was in Venice. The vaporetti boats (which are the equivalent of the public bus) run 24 hours a day, and will go to any stop you like even in the middle of the night. My friend and I asked to be taken across the water to a beautiful church, and we hung out on its steps good part of the night. It was pretty magical to be alone in Venice on this beautiful, isolated spot. I remember wondering if the boat would ever come back or if we'd be stuck there till morning.)
So in my dream, as I was standing there looking at the church on the pond, I looked down to where the dam was supposed to be. At night, in a different light, I could see something new. In addition to the dam, there was an opening. It was a shaft, and it went very deep. I went "omg he was right" because somehow I could tell it was a magical or holy shaft, and even though it was going downwards, it didn't lead to hell... it didn't exactly lead to heaven, but to something reverent.
I was too afraid to try to explore it because I didn't know if I was worthy of entering a sacred space. And that's why I had never visited the church, either. Deep down, I wasn't sure I would be welcome.
Some of my dreams seem to have a consistent theme that I discover, or realize, or remember, that deep down I am evil or sinful, and cannot tread in holy places where good people go.
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(Not a dream): last night I saw my grandmother. She can never remember where I work or if I go to school or not. She always thinks I work in a store. Last night she asked me, "Do you still work in that store, the holy store with the rosary beads and things?" Um, no, grandma, I have never worked in a store like that. "You never worked there?" She didn't seem to buy it. "But you used to, right? The holy store, with the crosses and things?" No, never. She didn't seem convinced. I think if I were old and forgetful, I would become suspicious that people were always fucking with me, too, because how would you know?
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