Earthquake in Ceiling World - A Dream
Dec. 16th, 2012 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fiat_knoxThe dream I had this morning took me to a very strange place.
I was living in some city. Houses, buildings, trees, everything normal around me. Suddenly, the ground shook, trembled and parts of it just broke and fell away, and I realised that I was standing, not on the world, but on the suspended ceiling over the world – and the pieces which had fallen away had been just ceiling tiles, leaving the framework behind with jagged bits of broken ceiling tile protruding here and there.
Below me was a whole other world altogether, looking exactly the same as mine, but I somehow knew that the one I was on was some higher level version or reflection of this one.
I was then accosted by R.O., a film producer, dancer and conceptual artist. At first, she invited me to safety in the yard of her home, an offer I accepted since that was one of the few stable spots I could see.
In her garden was a pile of rocks, and an inscription which I read. It stated:-
TODAY – AN ENEMY
TOMORROW – AN ENEMY, BURIED
Later, when I realised that I had to find my way down from ceiling world, R.O. smiled and showed me how, by walking gracefully, barefoot, across a spar of the old framework from which both the ceiling tiles had fallen on either side. Following my footsteps, I made it across – but she disappeared and I never saw her in this dream again.
In the next part of the dream, I found myself still in ceiling world, in a part of the world I had never been to before, which could only have been accessible because I'd followed R.O. across that frame bar.
This part was undamaged by the quake. It looked normal, with a fancy shop selling food and vegetables. Nobody had any idea that this was only a ceiling world. I found myself looking at one little round stand where there were slices of pineapple and chunks of watermelon packaged in little trays, on display on the shelves. I found myself fancying one of them when I discovered that I could teleport; albeit, only to the other side of the shop.
When I did so, a plain-looking middle-aged Irish woman with curly brown hair approached me. She told me that they were ready to take me to the world beneath ceiling world, if I would come with her. I did so, clambering down tiers of precariously piled-up office furniture which looked as if they had been stacked into a form of crude staircase for ceiling world refugees.
Following the woman down, I realised that I was actually going beneath the world further still – from the ceiling directly to its counterpart, a basement world beneath. A dimly-lit world of service corridors and parking spaces for wagons and vans, drab grey dominating over everything.
There was a ramp, and I somehow had an idea – back in the ceiling world, I knew that the ramp up there led to a secret door and a set of steps that could act as a shortcut to where I needed to go. Instead, however, I saw that this ramp ended in a dead end.
Parked next to the ramp in this grim, echoing chamber was a large flatbed lorry carrying a cargo of long, straight industrial pipes. Six of them, stacked neatly. No way out; only back, towards my exasperated Irish guide, and the long walk to the entrance to the middle world along that long, straight, drab, dim corridor.
No shortcuts.
Then I woke up.
I was living in some city. Houses, buildings, trees, everything normal around me. Suddenly, the ground shook, trembled and parts of it just broke and fell away, and I realised that I was standing, not on the world, but on the suspended ceiling over the world – and the pieces which had fallen away had been just ceiling tiles, leaving the framework behind with jagged bits of broken ceiling tile protruding here and there.
Below me was a whole other world altogether, looking exactly the same as mine, but I somehow knew that the one I was on was some higher level version or reflection of this one.
I was then accosted by R.O., a film producer, dancer and conceptual artist. At first, she invited me to safety in the yard of her home, an offer I accepted since that was one of the few stable spots I could see.
In her garden was a pile of rocks, and an inscription which I read. It stated:-
TOMORROW – AN ENEMY, BURIED
Later, when I realised that I had to find my way down from ceiling world, R.O. smiled and showed me how, by walking gracefully, barefoot, across a spar of the old framework from which both the ceiling tiles had fallen on either side. Following my footsteps, I made it across – but she disappeared and I never saw her in this dream again.
In the next part of the dream, I found myself still in ceiling world, in a part of the world I had never been to before, which could only have been accessible because I'd followed R.O. across that frame bar.
This part was undamaged by the quake. It looked normal, with a fancy shop selling food and vegetables. Nobody had any idea that this was only a ceiling world. I found myself looking at one little round stand where there were slices of pineapple and chunks of watermelon packaged in little trays, on display on the shelves. I found myself fancying one of them when I discovered that I could teleport; albeit, only to the other side of the shop.
When I did so, a plain-looking middle-aged Irish woman with curly brown hair approached me. She told me that they were ready to take me to the world beneath ceiling world, if I would come with her. I did so, clambering down tiers of precariously piled-up office furniture which looked as if they had been stacked into a form of crude staircase for ceiling world refugees.
Following the woman down, I realised that I was actually going beneath the world further still – from the ceiling directly to its counterpart, a basement world beneath. A dimly-lit world of service corridors and parking spaces for wagons and vans, drab grey dominating over everything.
There was a ramp, and I somehow had an idea – back in the ceiling world, I knew that the ramp up there led to a secret door and a set of steps that could act as a shortcut to where I needed to go. Instead, however, I saw that this ramp ended in a dead end.
Parked next to the ramp in this grim, echoing chamber was a large flatbed lorry carrying a cargo of long, straight industrial pipes. Six of them, stacked neatly. No way out; only back, towards my exasperated Irish guide, and the long walk to the entrance to the middle world along that long, straight, drab, dim corridor.
No shortcuts.
Then I woke up.
