The City

One very cold January morning I had a dream that I was living in Washington, D.C., living meagerly, yet had my own apartment there with my cat, Easter. I had the responsibility to report, as did everyone else that lived there as well. Although the internet (barely) existed at the time, yet was in its infancy for the general public and was well before the age of blogs and social networking. The concept of anyone being able to write, publish, and have that content immediately read by the masses at the tap of a finger wasn’t even a concept that most people could grasp.

What people were reporting was an event that was taking place in the city, which had been in lock-down. A day or two later, I saw an evening news report announcing the arrival of the presidents, prime ministers, and other such leaders from a gaggle of countries from around the world. And the thrilling part of that report: the city was scheduled to be on lock-down for the duration of their stay. I was in the flow, seeing of the truth, conscious of the patterns.

The city was suddenly experiencing an extreme surge in population. I don’t know if the people that I saw everywhere I had turned were actual residents, or just tourists visiting the insane center the capital had become. There were great political talks going on, as well a great war overseas. The entire Mall area, between the Capitol and the Washington Monument, was converted into a taxiway for air force bombers, strike planes, and fighters, the likes of which we have never seen before. It was converted from a grassy park that was a favorite to pigeons and tourists into a congested concrete slab, filled with military machinery. The planes were all so new that nobody even knew they existed.

I had been living downtown in a studio apartment with my cat. I had left her there to look about and see what it was that the whole madness had become, and where it was coming from. I ran into a friend from years ago, though it has only been a number of months, as he had come to make a pilgrimage to this island hill of trees and bushes, so thick that it was nearly impossible to climb. But the extremely high number of people determined to climb it increased the success rate of its visitors. Somehow my friend, my ex-prison-mate, had taken me there, even though I only first saw him once I arrived. For once people got to the top of this hill that had been standing there unnoticed since the birth of the city, they realized something absolutely spectacular. I was astonished. In the middle of the island hill was a Mayan statue, made out of bronze, depicting two characters, in two different scenes, crafted amongst the thicket. The characters were of Biblical origin. Christian. I do not remember exactly who they were. Cain and Able, I believe, if memory suits me correct. In one scene they were walking hand-in-hand. In the other, one was on the ground with a face of agony and confusion, and his brother held a sword pointed at his forehead. It was a prophecy for the whole city. The fact that nobody even found it until all of this madness had started was astounding enough itself.

Everybody had succumbed to what they really knew all along. And they all came to the city to become a part of the madness that had enveloped the entire world. It was a foggy day. We were all outside, but you could not tell. For the streets were so crowded and filled with people, in every square inch of the city, that it felt like the entire city had turned into a city with walls, as a large building, or castle with only one gate. Come to think of it, that was entirely true. By this point in time, the city had only one gate to let people out. As anyone would try to leave, they’d attempt to open the gate, but to no prevail. For the outside of the gates, and insides, were filled with gigantic carts carrying artillery, shells, and other ammunition. The whole town was a military storage facility.

I was on my way to work all the time being. Restaurants were experiencing great profits. And the talk of the town was the talk between the leader of this one particular middle-eastern country and our own president. Reporters could only be granted one visit for an interview, so the president ordered the businesses and establishments of the city to send one person to interview the political situation, and report it to the citizens in what was basically a report “by the citizens, to the citizens.” Reports were announced every ten minutes or so. It almost seemed that people had come to the city just for that. To hear these great reports. But nobody ever knew where people were coming from. Nobody even knew how they got there themselves.

I was making my way to my place of employment, where I was to be sent to make a report. In the meanwhile I gazed at all the amazing planes that looked so high-tech, lined up for it seemed miles and miles, waiting to take off and travel across the oceans and make their way to this one small country that they would soon destroy. This was all a great surprise to us. But nonetheless, we all knew it was coming. I was making my way to wherever it was that I was supposed to go to make my interview, but got lost in the multitude of people. By this time people were showing up out of nowhere much faster than they all could handle. The crowd was turning unbearable.

The government had ordered all dwellings and buildings to be opened and accessible to all people so to supply a little more breathing room in the city. But that still did not work. There eventually only emerged more people. It was at this time that I realized my cat, the one soul I most adored, was in my apartment when I heard they would be opening all rooms in the entire city. I did not want to know what had happened to the one soul that had mattered more to me than anything in this time of civil disaster. I do not know if I wanted to know. She was so small, helpless and innocent. And I don’t even know if she had a choice when I decided to come here. All by myself, I had taken innocence into the depths of hell, all for my own comfort.

Sometimes I wonder if the dream had any relationship with peoples’ ability to report back to the world of illusion from their state of enlightened realization. The reporters were those who were peeking or living from beneath the veil. And the truths were worrisome – at least if the reporters weren’t enlightened enough in thought, were too grounded in materialism, or were simply not ready for the truth. I was obviously grappling with the ability to maintain material responsibility while letting myself go an live almost completely in an enlightened condition. Maybe I wasn’t ready for the truth.

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