Apr 3, 2020
DREAMS: RUBY SLIPPERS
The aliens came from the earth.
RUBY SLIPPERS
(Dream date: 10/8/08. All dreams are written stream-of-consciousness style and unedited for literary devices. I try to capture them when I wake up in a journal and write them literally as I remember them before their vividness fades from consciousness).
I’m on a beach at a stunning resort just outside of a pristine yet metropolitan area. The city area is filled with all of the usual city area things a distinct separation between the upper and lower classes, examples of stunning architecture and amazing human triumphs of art and urban planning, and the dirty, unwanted leftovers of peoples lives in the form of trash and lost souls in the streets. Amongst the deeper corners and hidden cracks and crevices, the darker side of the human existence can be seen, but only if one looks closely. Or, if one observes long enough. Everyone else seems to be oblivious to what is present beneath the surface.
I am going down to the water lapping up on the beach. It’s more of a secluded cove, rather than a long stretch of beach, and there are many other happy, carefree people frolicking at its shores. We are at the foot of that from which we emerged. I notice giant, crater-like holes in the sand randomly speckled on the beach. I walk through one, and continue to approach the water. No one seems to actually be in the water yet we are all eagerly making our way down to it.
Suddenly, the perfect weather changes and the clouds turn an astonishing and unnatural color — I can’t even name the color, it is that unnatural. Winds begin to swirl around us and everyone is afraid. Very afraid. We start to retreat off the beach like the very waves that a few minutes ago were just enticing us, running back towards the seeming concrete safety of the city. From nature to manmade. The noise and shaking from the ground beneath us and from in the sky above the ocean is horrific and not of this world.
Suddenly, I’m running at a quick pace, and as I pass the crater that I just walked through, a giant, otherworldly and futuristic vessel rises effortlessly from it and hovers over the land. It’s exterior outline fits perfectly the dimensions of the crater that was there just a minute ago. Other ships also arise like phoenixes from the sand and position themselves like soldiers on a frontline so that their sleek exteriors and (with areas that look like they might be windows and headlights that shine from non-existent spaces on the all-black and fluid ships. Spaceships, for lack of a better word. What appears to be their front sides face the beach and city behind it.
As I make my way into an old and large concrete building that I know well (I don’t know what it is, but the omnipotence that is present in dreams sometimes tells me that I know this building and its secret hallways and passageways from the past, and I know that I will need to utilize this information to survive), the ships launch an attack. Laser beams and indescribable other unseen forces start to pick off people, cars and fixtures firmly attached to the earth all around me. People and structures and infrastructures seem to be taken out by THEM selectively. The things that are being destroyed somehow don’t seem random, and I make it inside the building and into its annals just in time to escape the wrath of the attack.
I hide with a few other strangers who I take with me into the small, deep hiding space within the building until we think it is safe to come close to the windows of the building. We stay inside, and slowly approach the windows.
We see the carnage that is outside, and all is quiet. We don’t dare go outside because a strange acid/nuclear rain has fallen, and we don’t know if the atmosphere is going to be dangerous or not. The hundreds of people in my building gather, as do tens of hundreds of people in other, similar safe places, and we convene on what to do. The people who are left, who have survived, all have very specific and different talents, skills and traits as if we were left with just what we needed to sustain ourselves, but we have to figure out how to do it.
In the days to follow, events merge together in my mind, but I do know that there are the usual power struggles in society, people vying for leadership, vying for decisions to be made their way, and a host of opposing opinions strongly facing one another. However, mainly, everything is amicable. When there are disputes they are on what the best way to do something is, and they are constructive. We have no weapons. All of modern human convenience and infrastructure is gone — no electricity, phones, cable lines, running water, etc., and we are left in the shell of a modern world with only modern skills, but have to regress in order to learn how to survive off the land.
Slowly, we rebuild, without interference from the alien vessels, but always under their watchful eyes. We never see or hear anything but the ships themselves, hovering silently as if they were floating guard stations. Nothing-or no one-ever emerges or goes into the vessels. Somehow I feel that we are being guided by the ships yet we are made to feel that we are building a strong
new society of our own accord. I also feel now that we are on a planet which seems completely foreign to the one before the attack. It doesn’t feel like we are home, even though we’ve settled into a routine and the days have turned into months, maybe even years, since the attacks.
“We are left in the shell of a modern world with only modern skills.”
There is a pregnant feeling in the air because somehow we know that THEY are waiting for something. What it is, we are not sure.
One day, when everything seems relatively normal, and life is going about as it normally would, save for the hovering space vessels at a distance, the sky starts to change and swirl in a different way from that day on the beach. There is no noise, but the air is infused with a new feeling — one of something impending. The sky is colored in warmer tones pinks and hues of purple, almost like a sunset. It swirls like potions in a cauldron. The colors light the earth in a way which makes it look so beautiful it is almost unrecognizable. Suddenly, everything comes into focus and we all seem to get a very lucid, almost bird’s eye view of the clean, peaceful, beautiful and harmonious world that we created out of utter devastation as we silently, willfully gather on the highest hilltop we can find, as close to the beautiful sky as possible.
All is quiet for a moment, and then the guard vessels come closer, and as they do people start to group themselves, somehow naturally and without instruction, into standing groups of 5. Around each group of 5 people, a pod- like vessel, similar to the ones hovering now directly overhead, starts to materialize and build out of thin air. Soon, we are all enclosed in these pods, and the pods hover slowly off the ground until all of us are lined up in neat rows, facing the larger, mother vessels in front of us.
We are not afraid. Somehow we know that this is what we’ve been waiting for, and we are eager. I speak to the mother vessels, and ask how we pilot the ships as there are no controls inside the pods. I don’t know how I am speaking — whether it’s literally out loud, or whether it’s telepathy. I also don’t know who, or what, I’m specifically speaking to, but somehow I do know that I’m speaking to that which can hear me and that which has the answer. We’ve never tried to speak to THEM before.
THEY answer me, again, I don’t know how, but I know they do and I hear/think it, as does everyone else. “Just think about home and the power of your thoughts will pilot you there,” they reply. And we think about the pure planet earth that is pristine in our minds (not specifically the earth that we knew before the attacks, but in fact the earth and world that it should have been had we not let it get out of control and ruined it) and the pods lift off, travel into the universe. We know that we are happily on our way home.
