*gasp*
I woke up last night in a cold sweat, my heart racing from unseen terrors inside of my head.
The dream was cryptic – most likely symbolic. Perhaps I am too close to it to analyse it properly. All I know is, it left me weak and trembling, groping for the light to banish the dark shadows where danger seemed to lurk in every corner.
I offer it up to you now – perhaps you can make sense of it and help me understand what warning my own fragile psyche is attempting to send.
The Dream: I am being prepared for some sort of ritual – a sacrifice, perhaps? My face is painted, my hair arranged. I am forced into a ridiculously huge white gown and draped with flowers (premature funerary rites?)
There is a great feast – wine and sweet cakes everywhere (a pagan celebration? An offering to the gods?)
I am frog-marched by relatives through the mob to an altar. Small children are frolicking before me, tossing flower petals at my feet, obviously relishing the bloodshed which is about to ensue – it’s like the Children of the Corn, for god’s sake.
I am struggling, demanding that they listen as I protest. “BUT I’M NOT A VIRGIN! I SWEAR! ASK ANYONE!” But they do not listen.
As the end comes, all goes black. I wake up screaming.
Thoughts? Anyone?
