It may not have been the best dream I have ever had, but considering the subject matter, it was a strangely calm one.
I was in a large building, perhaps a factory, perhaps a school dorm. Somewhere with a large food hall, and a basement as well. Lots of people milling about, all of them relaxed and friendly. I ran into some elementary school companions, they seemed a bit surprised to see me. Apparently, I had blogged that I might not attend the event, yet there I was, a bit short of information but equal in enthusiasm with the others strolling the hallways.
Soon it became clear that we were saying our goodbyes, we were all there to die. Not gruesomely, but peacefully, at some all-encompassing, worldwide event that was to happen at precisely 2:15 a.m. Central Standard Time. The vibe was that of mass suicide, but our deaths would not require any action by any of us. It was all out of our hands. The strangest part-none of us seemed to care. We were just aware of time slipping away, slipping towards the end.
When I awoke the grandfather clock in the hallway was chiming three-quarters of an hour. Remembering the dream, I quietly turned to my bedside clock, taking pains not to rouse Barb beside me in bed, or Cooper in his crate in the next room. I was relieved to see it was now 3:45. 2:15 had passed without a ripple in the life force.
What brought on a dream in which humanity would quietly slip away in the night? Who can say what feeds our subconscious? But I know that after a day of reading newspapers, watching the TV news, and sitting through the Sunday political shows from Meet the Press to 60 Minutes, I had commented to Barb that we are doomed. If deadly, mutating COVID didn’t get us, then the inevitable violent revolution would.
But in my dream, the world ended with a whimper, not a bang. I’m just hoping it doesn’t end at all.
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