The Secret Life of Demons

Forest

I arrive at a location near a mountain; lots of green, many trees. I pass a few familiar people, but they're more like spirits (appearance is indifferent, but the mentality was profound). Most appear busy with their own agendas, but it's peaceful. As I move closer to camp I can see people gathering and the energy shifting. Many more of us are arriving and so I stop to observe the increased movement. I realize the reason for the arrival of my people; we're receiving visitors.

MoSh

Shred arrives, but I don't recognize that it's him in the dream. I merely stare at him as he walks past me and doesn't say anything. I call out to him, he stops walking and looks straight at me but there's no sense of recognition; he's viewing me like a stranger. I'm also staring at him, trying to figure out why he's so familiar to me. We stare for a long while at one another. I'm uncertain how this occurs but he begins ... chasing me? Not in a bad way? Not in a good way either?

I enter my camp to evade him because the energetic exchange of being chased startles me. I've been hunted in the past and that mindset he's holding reminds me of past experiences...this internal dynamic causes me to race through the encampment, through a maze of doors, without stopping. I step out to detach from the panicked body.

My perspective is following a few feet behind the fleeing body. I'm wondering what the fuck happened and I sorta get it. The energy unfolding was too similar to past memories and it triggered anxiety. Makes sense; being hunted for death sorta does that to a person. MoSh may have accidentally held that vibration without understanding the impact.

Data?

I reach the top of the encampment and watch as the body I was inhabiting tries to calm itself. The sky is beautiful up here; though I spend less time looking up and more time assessing myself. I notice I don't look like me. This body I'm using looks very tall and lean (sort of Avatar-like, but the body wasn't blue and there was no tail). I look sort of Native American, but a distorted version of it. It's pretty, but more graceful gazelle pretty than American pretty. As the panic subsides, a man approaches. I'm viewing the man as I'm still separated from my body. Personally, I'm wondering how he made it up this far and it doesn't look like the Shred, but I can't tell who it is.

The body I was inhabiting is clearly still sketchy. She moves around the space without putting her back to the man. The man approaches, stops about twenty feet away from her, and reveals something he's holding. She goes to him and they exchange a few small words. The dynamic of this man calms her (he's tall, a bit stoic, quiet, reminds me of Data due to lack of emotional excitement). The body (hers) is calm enough for me to enter it and so I do. The man and I talk for a bit about weapons.

He's asking to bring something for us to practice with and wants to know what I want to use. I think it over briefly before asking him to bring something cheap. He and I will spar, I chose archery, he agreed he would bring arrows for next time. Cheap is ideal because it's sparring and not an actual battle; also, I have my own arrows so he would be bringing the items for himself mostly. He excuses himself as he needed to leave to attend to a separate errand. I'm collecting my arrows as I'm going to spend some time up here to practice on my own; alone. We say goodbye and I watch him leave. I'm thinking of how nice he seems and I'm looking forward to our next meeting.

Death

I'm at a hospital with my dad, in my hands is a biography and collective work of an artist. The artist has recently died and the book was compiled for his death. I'm browsing through the pages looking at the various pieces of artwork. Most of it is drawn in pen, but the line work is very lovely. One picture I find quite sad--the artist is in bed, the media is black with some lines of a crisp blue. Nothing is obviously sad about the picture, only that I happen to know this was a portrait of the artist as he was lying on his deathbed. To me, it's sad as it indicates the last artwork before he died (there will be no more). I've never been partial to endings.

A nurse comes into our darkly lit room. She informs us we're going to radiology, they want a picture of his liver. I collect myself and prepare to follow them out of the room. The dream shifts.

Catch 22

I open up a connection to my mom to explain what's going on with Dad. I'm viewing her and she looks like she's in a different state (location) for some reason. I tell her we're on our way to radiology and why. Her reply:

It's funny, no one is afraid of death. Death is not something people fear. People go to the hospital not to find out they are dying, they already know they are dying. They go to the hospital to delay death. What can the hospital (medicine) truly offer? They try to offer time, but they often don't understand death enough to grant time or understanding of the process unfolding.

It's humorous to me she is teaching me about the process of dying. Her comfort level is high and I suppose she's right; the misconception is death is something to fear when in reality it is a step up from the predicament of living. Seems a bit quirky how backward things are, yet I'm still quieted by the prospect of Dad engaging the process. Perhaps I'm merely jealous he gets to go while I'm stuck dealing with the bullshit of living. Not that I idolize death; but death (abandonment of the physical body) makes everything I do more efficient. Hence, my work is slower with a physical self and this annoys me. Though, if dead I wouldn't be able to share my research so it's a hilariously cruel Catch 22 for me.