I have a Facebook friend with whom I've become acquainted over the past several months. There are a few things that really impress me about this lady. First of all, I think she'd make a wonderful Morticia Addams; that is, if they ever get around to making another Addams Family film or TV series. Another thing I appreciate about her is that she's really likes metal, and is solely responsible for posting an Insomnium video that got me interested in that band.
A third thing that tickles my fancy is the way in which she often closes out her Facebook interactions for the day by telling her friends, "Happy Night and Dark Dreams!"
This got me to thinking. Hmm, I wondered. Does she have dark dreams often? More often than me? Do I ever have them?
After a bit of dream recall, I came to the conclusion that although my subconscious mind occasionally explores the darker realms while I sleep, it doesn't occur as much as it should, considering my indulgence with Gothic literature, horror movies and an abundance of metal and dark-wave music. A dream I had last night however, has given me a moment of pause. It was vivid, emotional and offered almost extra-sensory insights throughout its duration. This one was good enough to write about.
The dream began with me being taken to the top of a mountain in an open-air, antique vehicle. The car resembled something people drove around during the decade between 1910 and 1920. I had a job to do upon reaching my destination, but I wasn't clear on what that job actually was or how I would accomplish it. What I did know was that I was dressed in top hat and finer Gothic attire than I can actually afford to buy. My destination was a church upon whose grounds a dark goddess had settled. She was reportedly, growing in physical size as well as power.
I was impressed with what awaited me at the top of the mountain as the church was situated on grounds that offered a spectacular view of the community and extending landscape down below. The place of worship itself resembled such structures built during New England's colonial period. There was a bell tower, which extended upward from the front entrance, and the building extended toward its rear in a series of interesting archeological configurations, all the while maintaining its colonial/puritan ambiance. The grounds surrounding the church consisted mainly of well manicured lawns, which were bordered by sizable tracts of forest.
My companions led me into the church through the back door, where I would apparently, be received by the church minister and perhaps part of the congregation. Upon entering, I noticed a somewhat spiral stairway leading downward. On those steps stood a man--a fearful man. He extended a crucifix in my direction with one of his hands as he crouched against the wall. His actions both amused me and made me feel powerful.
"Your crucifix can't hurt me," I told him with contempt. "It has no effect at all."
As I stood facing the stairwell, I contemplated whether my darkness made me evil. My nature had certainly unnerved the man with the cross. Yet, I intuitively felt that he was just a weak, fearful person totally incapable of understanding me. No, I'm not evil, I realized, and neither is the goddess everyone wants me to confront.
A small group of people greeted me as I stepped further into the hallway. The main part of the church lay just beyond. The minister was a youngish-looking man wearing a flannel shirt. As I stood by him and his small group I realized that they were members of a fundamentalist sect; and although they clung faithfully to their Bible-based beliefs, they were incapable of approaching any goddess. I viewed them as I had the man with the crucifix, weak and superstitious. Still, I remained courteous and respectful.
They led me outside the back door and took me to the edge of the lawn. Before me, and on a leveled off piece of land just below our high position on the mountain, stood what appeared to be a large statue. It was the goddess. She towered over everything else in sight and stood gazing out into the distance. One of her hands extended outward and somewhat upward. In it she held a burning torch, as if pointing it at the entire world. I'd never had any dealings with her before, but I could feel her power. What is she planning to do? I wondered. How will I even approach her? And when I do, what do I say to get a dialog going?
That's where the dream stopped. I'll never know how things would have turned out. Still, the dream was dark and everything I could have hoped for. Now I know how vampires must feel.
Photo source: Gothic Pictures Gallery