I was on a space ship of some sort. There was a huge window that looked down on the Earth. It made me dizzy. I felt like I was going to fall and wouldn’t get near the window. But there was a woman there with me. She held my hand. It gave me courage. As afraid as I was, I let her take me to the edge. There seemed to be no glass, like you could take one step and fall, tumbling, for miles to the oceans below.
“Bear witness,” the woman told me. “The old gods are returning.”
I didn’t understand. She watched me. I can still see her face. Dark, almost black, long straight hair. Delicate features. Porcelain skin. She struck me as perfect. The idealization of a woman.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I am Asria,” she told me. “Or an aspect of Asria. As are you.”
“As I am?”
“You are an old one,” she told me. “A descendant of the pure blood. You have come home.”
Her words comforted me. They felt right. True. I didn’t feel like I was on a space ship orbiting Earth, my home. I felt like I was at home, at last, and was looking down upon my old prison. I felt like I had been released at last, and had finally found my way home. I wasn’t a realization, or a Eureka moment. It just felt right. Like an annoying, buzzing sound had been taken away and I knew I’d be getting my first real sleep in ages.
“We are all Asria,” the woman told me. “She is in all of us. She lives within us, and we live through her. Open your heart.”
“Asria is God?”
“No. You are god. I am god. We… are god. Asria is us.”
“And I am Asria?”
“Yes. As am I.”
I laughed at her, but felt guilty. On some primal level I knew she was telling me the truth. I just didn’t know how to work it through in my mind.
“So,” I asked her, “what does this all mean?”
She smiled patiently and patted my arm. “I told you. The old gods have returned.”
A lot happened after that, but I can’t remember any of it now. The conversation is almost seared into my mind, but the rest of the dream is a blur. Bits and pieces of images. Space ships covering the sky below me as I looked down on the Earth. Angels dropping through the sky, spraying great jets of flame onto soldiers. Armored women waiting to drop from floating platforms high in the air. And the woman I saw, in a room talking with other women who looked exactly like her.
The last thing I remember was standing on the steps of some kind of government building, wearing handcuffs, with dozens of angry people around me. They were all angry at me. A fat man forced his way through the crowd and raised a revolver at me. I looked at the policemen who were holding my arms, but I knew they wouldn’t protect me. They both looked away. The fat man’s hand shook as he squeezed the trigger. I looked past him, and across the street stood my old friend, Agnon, with a sad, stricken look on his face. Behind him towered a massive figure in seamless black armor, like it was a second skin or something. I wasn’t afraid. I knew everything would be fine. It brought me peace to know that my long road was finally over. I woke up when the revolver fired. But not before I felt the impact in my chest.
I’ve been trying to process this dream since I woke up. Now I’m just tired. My eyes are burning. I can’t think about this any more. So I’ll set it aside until tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be able to remember more of it. For some reason it all seems important.
