Good morning, everybody.
An enormous room, almost completely dark, possibly with footbridges spanning over endless pits. Two characters walked into view in the distance, fighting with light sabers. I started to have some understanding of the fighters' relationship, as if I were watching a movie, like Star Wars. The two fighters now exited.
Two more fighters entered, this pair much closer to my view than the first pair. One of the fighters was Darth Vader. The other fighter may also have looked like Darth Vader, although he was apparently good. The fighters' light sabers were very vivid, possibly also twice as long as normal light sabers.
The view shifted. There was now a man on a bed. I may have been the man. The bed was unbelievably tall, like it was made of mattresses stacked up all the way from the bottom of the enormous (endless) pit. (The bed kind of reminds me of the bed from the story of "The Princess and the Pea.")
The man knew that there was some kind of evil taking over some situation. The man had to destroy this evil. But the way the man had to destroy the evil was by taking it entirely into himself and then burning it while he lay on the bed. The man probably understood that that meant he himself would be burned to death.
The flames began to consume the bed and the man's body. But as the flames grew, another voice came from somewhere, saying that not all of the stuff that man had taken into himself needed to be consumed. Little bits and pieces of things, the voice said, could be allowed to survive. As the voice said this, little bits and pieces of things, like specks of dirt or dust, began to hop away from the man's body and off the bed.
Either I or the man (unless I was the man) knew that this was wrong. The specks of things that had escaped needed to be recollected and held onto the bed. I believe this was done. It now became very important for the burning process to take place immediately.
The man lay down in the bed. His (or my) view may have begun floating over his body. The flames very quickly consumed the man and the bed. There was some new realization about the man -- like he had been evil but had somehow allowed the evil to be consumed because he was good deep down, or like his consumption in the fires had actually made him evil for a brief time before he died, or something.
Something about this evil character, though, caused the man to change into a raven. The raven was not evil. The raven itself may also have been consumed in the fires. But now it rose, reborn, from the flames, and flew away into the darkness.
I was somewhere like a skate park. There were a group of guys hanging out, using a small plateau of skate ramps as seats. The guys were mostly white, kind of heavyset, dressed in hooded sweatshirts, and with thin but scraggly beards. They spoke with a bit of an affected accent, like they were trying to sound tough and thuggish. But they were actually talking about how some person, maybe a Korean rap star, had changed their lives and made their thinking more positive.
I had been standing somewhere, maybe at the top of a staircase, about ten meters away from these men. As they were speaking, I jumped down the steps. Partly in an attempt, I believe, to impress these young men, I began gliding through the different concrete levels of the skate park. I glided down a regular staircase, then down a staircase with wide steps. I then passed the young men along some level stretch of concrete. Then I actually flew up and over a series of steps, floating down over another series of steps, and heading down into some kind of concrete overhang or small cave.
Landing in the cave, I reflected on everything I'd just done. I realized that I'd flown unintentionally, unconsciously. I thought I should go back and try to fly again, but this time purposely, so I could control the direction of my flight and impress the young men with my movements.
But I somehow got distracted. There were two young men in the cave, half-sitting and half-laying, with their backs propped up against the walls of the cave and their legs stretched out. The young men were speaking about some pop artist. They may have been passing compact discs back and forth with each other. Then one of the young men decided he needed to leave. He may actually have been leaving so he himself could go record an album, or he may have been leaving because he needed to go to some emotional support group, like a group of young men whose lives had been changed for the better by pop music.
The other young man and I were left alone in the cave. I kind of felt awkward around the young man, since he and I really didn't have the same taste or style. But I pulled a compact disc out and showed it to the young man. The CD cover looked like the cover for Cream's Disraeli Gears album, but with chunkier and more cartoony line drawings. The CD was actually by the Korean pop artist G-Dragon.
I tried to explain to the young man how I thought people were giving the K-pop artist Psy too much attention, while someone like G-Dragon definitely deserved a lot more exposure. But I also said that I wasn't trying to insult Psy or the young men's tastes in music, since, apparently, they both liked Psy a lot. As I said this, my view closed in tightly on the CD cover. The artwork lost a lot of its brightness and took on dirtyish, watercolor-like blues, yellows, and reds.
I was now standing in a department store, probably somewhere in the women's clothing section. Three or four young women stood near me. The women were all really pretty, maybe Asian, and all dressed in really nice, business-like clothes.
I sat something like a huge, black, leather purse down on some display stand in front of me. I opened up the purse and began pulling out high heels. The high heels, I told the women, were compliments of the K-pop artist G-Dragon. The high heels were somehow marked so that they advertised G-Dragon: maybe with something like a pink, white, and black Sex Pistols-esque logo.
I now pulled a silver, leathery purse out of the huge purse. The purse was also marked with the pink, white, and black logos. The purse -- stiffened out into a hard cube -- may have had something inside of it, maybe something like a camera or video camera. I handed this purse in the general direction of the girls, saying this purse was a special prize, for only one of the girls, also compliments of G-Dragon. The girls squealed with excitement. I may have had more "prizes" to hand out.
I was in the Rubin Museum for Himalayan Art in New York City. I was on the second or third floor. I'm not sure whether I saw anything there. It may have been like the exhibit space was completely empty, with the walls, floor areas, and pedestals, all barren. I may have gotten bored or restless in such a space. So I jumped through the center of the stairwell, landing all the way down in the basement of the museum.
I sat on some bench-like ledge and looked out at the basement. I thought that I'd probably leave the museum soon: there had really been nothing here for me to see. But, I thought, I had paid for a membership to this place, hadn't I? If I was going to pay for a membership to a museum, I thought, I should at least frequent the museum and spend a decent amount of time in the museum when I visited. I told myself I would do my best to stay for two or three hours. That, I knew, was perfectly possible, given the hours that the museum was open.
I now walked up a series of steps, up to the second or third floor of the museum. The exhibit space was just like a huge gift shop. But the gift shop mostly sold clothes, like it was a department store.
As I reached the top of the steps, I encountered a tight cluster of people. There were two attractive women dressed in business blouses and skirts. A female attendant was helping the women pick out clothes. With the two women were two little girls in cute, old-fashioned dresses. I was only as tall as the little girls. I didn't seem to be aware of this fact during the dream. I thought of the little girls as much younger and smaller than I.
The attendant was talking about the clothing, which was all normal, Western-style clothing, as if it possessed different attributes one might speak of when speaking of Buddhist or Hindu art. The attendant was making these normal clothes sound as if they might provide the wearer with some kind of spiritual fulfillment.
As the attendant made her sales pitch to the women, I paid attention to the little girls. I had the idea that the little girls were sexually attracted to me. But the little girls actually seemed to be either really shy or really afraid of me. They kept hiding behind the legs of the women and the attendant. Occasionally the little girls would peek their heads out from behind the legs. They may have been checking to see whether I was gone. But I told myself they were stealing little glances at me because they were attracted to me.