Dream before I woke up at 4:48 a.m. with my blood sugar at 50:

I was a page observing an older man courting a younger woman.

I offered to deliver his declaration of love to her.

We were on a ship. The staircase led us past a galley of quieted wild predators to her door. I delivered the message of love.

When he did not hear from her, I accompanied him again to visit her. We reached her door, but she was no longer there. We entered, and saw coffins leaving and everyone lined around the room far away from them. It was the plague.

The predators on the floor below were no longer quiet. They were killing people.

At some point, we traveled away from this area in an effort to leave, and passed a contemporary scene, surrounded in glass – our baroque future would look like this – the present.

We tried to exit, where the contemporary people were moving, but we were prevented from entering. In the background they were escaping too. We were told the story wasn’t completed, we were drawings the artist was working on.

Somehow I then saw that even this was an illusion. The ship was underwater, and a demon was influencing the bad things happening to people. This was its job, the task it had within what we thought was reality.

Life in all its fits and starts, struggles, and it’s all an illusion.

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