Apr 15, 2014

The Space for Evil is White

I always feel the need to reiterate that for every dream or experience I post about, there are at least (nowadays) five others I do not. So only when the dream stands out and bothers my waking experience do I transcribe it to get it out of my head and into the world. Typically that is when it lingers in my mind with nudging urgency as if to say, "I should be told." Most of my dreams nowadays center on my efforts to begin a polyamorous lifestyle, showing me perspectives from those parties and families involved, and sorting out my concerns with new ideas and approaches. When a topic is able to rip through all that interference, it must be significant.

In this daytime dream from March 26th, 2014, catching a few zz's while my son slept, I dreamed I walked into the lair of a particular group of evil. It's a large space with low ceilings, previously a warehouse floor. It's white, everything is white, but the brightness is variable between inner spaces. One standing group will have a shadowy brightness, while another just a few feet to their right in the center of the room is lit with natural lighting.

I walk into this surprisingly white building with my dog on leash. Cartoonish white ice cream trucks are facing away from me, side by side against the back wall in anticipation of something to happen. Some scheme they had been planning for a long time was finally going to be hatched and they wanted front seats for the show. Their butts practically stuck up in the air above them with how intensely they watched crammed together at what looked to be me to be a solid wall. I couldn't figure out what they were looking at. The wall must have been transparent to them. My sense was they were watching unsuspecting humans going about their physical lives until they suddenly fell ill. I saw faceless people walking casually, and suddenly hold their stomachs and collapse to the ground. Some died, some were seriously ill. The animated trucks were peering into the physical world. They belonged to some fast food corporation.

Being a visitor here, I figured I should best leave that matter alone so as to not blow my cover.  No one there could realize a being of light had stumbled in.

Instead, I turned around a pillar to meet the Joker, yeah, the one from Batman. He wore a white butcher's apron. I engaged him, "Um, Joker?" I spoke shyly, with a false nervousness. He lifted his protective mask and leaned into me, blinking and receptive with genuine curiosity. I stammered, trying to figure out what to say, but my fishing came across just perfectly as true hesitation.

He began to project his impression of me and his assumed response, which I caught and rolled right along with. He figured my hesitation was due to my wanting to ask him about a grotesque curiosity I hid from others; something society would never let me explore, something we would be forced to repress. He figured I had a repressed interest in experimenting with flesh, blood, bone, and meat of living tissue. I played along with his impression by suggesting I heard about him setting up a space for morbid desires like my own. Setting up this space was a community service project to him. He believed such curiosity should be embraced and indulged.

Still, not finding precisely the words to convey a true desire and reasonably convince him that his suspicions were accurate, not actually being familiar with the idea, something else saved me. Another person (entity?) walked past us to enter one of the rooms Joker reserved the space for. I followed him with my eyes and body, expressing great interest in where he was going. "What's he doing?" As though to say, without having to say it, that I want to do whatever he is getting to do.

The Joker laughed with delight. If I were truly repressed about such morbid things, his demeanor would be relieving. He treated me with understanding.

"Oh! You wish to explore your natural curiosities freely? How wonderful." I continued to eye the doorless side-room where the sounds of a saw were now coming from. I was a child exploring something away from the criticizing eyes of others, from the only place it was offered.

"He is merging together the jaws of two different animals."

Concern triggered in my mind about whether the two beings used for this experiment were alive to feel this torture. After all, I was still a compassionate person infiltrating this unusual space in the guise of a child avatar.

I received a brief image of clean bleached bones, indicating the beings belonging to them were long dead, so I pushed the worry aside to stay focused and not blow my cover. "You mean a shark jaw? Why didn't he call it a shark jaw? You should call it that next time. It's funny." Somehow my suggestion was witty, and I knew it. I made a relaxed comment about the obscene experiment, solidifying my place there.

Joker's and my connection was suddenly established. He laughed and said "Why didn't I? I should write that down. Ahaha! That's good."

His immediate reaction to write it down helped me understand him in another light, not as a sadistic, sociopath. He was a comedian. There was a redeemable quality about his nature to want to bring humor to others, to appeal to their need for fun and help them feel free to discover and play. It sounds wrong even now as I write it, but in the moment of realization, I related with him and appreciated what he was trying to accomplish. His mission was not pure evil for the sake of evil. He had a vision that set him in this dimension alongside bigger wigs, but in a space he differentiated from them. He had no part of the other plots and ideals. He believed repression doesn't help consciousness evolve, even if that curiosity had to do with genetic experimentation.

Joker may be representative of a race that provides space for thoughts of flesh and blood dismantling and assembling, aka hybridization and genetic experimentation. Like funding their research by buying a lab. Who is Joker in the physical sense? Didn't the US Military give underground laboratory space to alien races to conduct their genetic experiments in?

"Well, I got to go get my dog before whatever's happening with Wedy, or Wendy's goes down. Have you seen this? They have ice cream trucks lined up to watch this big event." I walked off displaying annoyance at the chatter about the illness event before Joker had a chance to second guess my identity through my arrogance that he would agree with my annoyance. I assumed his operation was separate from the larger one conducting their meeting in the same space. Only a pillar and alignment of the walls divided the meeting area of the Wendy's association from the Joker's little project.

As I turned the corner, I pushed through two or three men in striped coach shirts and pot bellies tightly whispering to one another about the plot about to take public effect. I moved passed them, again so they didn't have the chance to catch wind of the compassion wafting off my person and question why I was there.

The large room had couches facing each other with old women sitting on them. They watched me suspiciously. I realized I was walking slowly now, like an old lady through their space, perhaps to blend. When I reached a large curtain that separated the staging area from a side room, I picked up my pace to reach my dog. My dog was resting, and dodged me as I reached him. "C'mon, don't do this, you don't want to be here when this shit goes down." I grabbed his lead and rushed us out of the impossibly white building.

Why was this significant? I don't like to guess, because frankly I'm terrified of being wrong and again plunging myself into doubt over my dreaming decoding. Plus I don't take messing with people's reputations lightly. As a personal risk, I will provide a tentative prediction based on the intelligence I acquired.

Something disastrous is about to come out of the corporate food chain industry, something its existence as an industry has been building up to.

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