Coda: The Beginning Finale

Another set of recurring dreams. Not as wide a variety of scenarios as the last set of iterations. This grouping is precision shot, not shotgun luck. They’ve been repeating for a few weeks now, with the past few days finding the dreams spilling over into the day and appearing in idle moments. The last set of repeating dreams ended when I recognized the pattern and wrote it down. This set ended when I realized what role I played in them.

As the dream starts out, I’m merely the observer. A member of the unseen audience watching a middle aged woman leaving work. She waves goodbye to her co-workers and briskly walks a few blocks away to an independent coffeehouse. She greets a few friends that are already there as the staff places her favorite beverage on the table for her.

Some conversation, some laughter. An occasional phone call that she dismisses on reading the CallerID. She’s not at work, she refuses to work. Someone will ask her about leaving work so early. Someone else will remind the gathered group that the heroine doesn’t really work at the business. That’s what the other people are paid to do. The heroine is the owner of the business and is able to set her own hours. Much laughter and recognition of business acumen.

Someone checks the time and suddenly there is a scramble at the table. Some tabs are paid and some money is refused and everyone is eager and intense. The scene changes to a concert hall. The heroine and some of her retinue are allowed to enter via a VIP door where they are quickly whisked away to the back rooms. They change into their costumes, fetch their music instruments, and assemble behind the drawn curtains.

She is the lead singer in a rock band, and plays guitar as well.

She wears my face and sings with my voice. She can play the drums and the guitar. She prefers the drums, but the guitar allows her to sing and face the audience. She’s lovely but not stunningly so. She’s approachable, but it’s clear she has defenses. She’s forgiving of others faults but her items must be just so.

Every iteration of this dream has certain components that are consistent from dream to dream. She is the owner of a software company, and that is her primary source of income. She plays in the band for fun and as a side hobby. At this point in the dream, her stage costume is Victorian like. Black pants with knee-high boots. White poet shirt with lace and ruffles spilling over her chest. Long coat, heavily embroidered with multitudes of colors and swirls. The coat, though, is for looks. The fabric is really more mesh than cloth, with the embroidery hiding the underlying weave. Flashy, blingy, lightweight, and cool to wear. She has an afro, and wears a tiara as part of the stage flair.

The curtains part. They take the stage. She is thrilled to see the audience. The drummer starts showing off and the concert begins. They play some new songs. They play some old songs. They play some covers after telling off the RIAA. The audience is engaged. She is engaged. They think she plays for them, but those close to her know, she plays for herself. Her performance is an act of sacrifice, a pouring out of the soul. She surrenders herself to the music and becomes nothing more than a vessel for it to pour through. Oblivion in a major key.

Let us now switch our attention to the other major character of these dreams. The alien queen. In some versions of the dream, extra-terrestrials came to Earth a human generation ago, about fifteen years. In other versions, they arrive for the first time while she is playing on stage. Sometimes they have arrived in peace, and have deployed a team to learn of the multitudes of human cultures that our planet swirl in maddening dance. Other times, they have conquered most of Earth with very little bloodshed. Their weapons making a few key examples of the destruction of resisting countries, leading other countries to cease hostilities in exchange for the lives of their citizens.

If they have conquered Earth, they don’t know just what to make of humans just yet. Most humans are viewed as barely distinguishable from the animals they feed on. The general consensus among the conquerors is that once the rebellious behavior has been bred out of humanity, humans would make a great servant class. Of course, that would lessen their intelligence as a species, but hey, they are little more than hairless primates, so no great loss.

If they come in peace, then the world leaders are falling over themselves trying to curry favor with the aliens. Each country is doing its best to portray itself as the Best Country On Earth to the detriment of all others. The alien team appear to follow the lead, then will suddenly veer off into something unscripted and surprising.

Whether curious alien anthropologists, or arrogant alien overseer, something not human enters the concert hall as the heroine is in full surrender to her music. The aliens hear. The aliens feel. Something about this particular human has their attention. The aliens make a snap decision. The invasion is paused. The study is focused on her. Something about her is a threat to their world.

The heroine is thrust into a political maelstrom. Senators and oligarchs vie for her attention, and loyalty. Her parentage is scoured, her childhood friends are whisked into secret rooms for unofficial interviews. Suddenly, she is a celebrity, a status she is keen to shed as soon as possible. Then the shocking truth is revealed.

The heroine is a pagan and a ceremonial magician.

The same pulpits that trumpeted the triumph of the human spirit over the alien agents of doom now condemn her as part of the great evil plan to destroy humanity. The public backlash is vicious. But the aliens don’t care. They find her very interesting. By command or persuasion, they get her to perform another concert. She realizes she could play at the game as well. She demands concessions from the aliens. Some back and forth dialogue. A tense scripted moment or two. The invasion is halted. Medical research is augmented.

Finally, the empress of the alien empire comes to Earth to see this singular human in her native state. If the empress is pleased, Earth will benefit greatly. Conspirators conspire, both human and alien. But the heroine has her own game to play. She has figured out why the aliens are so interested in her. Identified the quirk that sets her apart from the rest of her species. She knows what is at stake, and is ready to surrender herself to complete destruction if that secures the safety of those she loves.

Indeed, she intends to do just that.

She calls her band together for what they instinctively know is their final appearance. They’re wearing the same lace and ruffles costume as they started with. But the heroine has changed hers. Her closest friends look on the new costume with silent dread, they know the meaning of the symbolism.

She is dressed in white from head to toe. An intentionally torn veil held away from the face by a simple band. White boots, white pants, white shirt, white long sleeve coat. No makeup. No adornments. She is dressed for a funeral, hers.

The queen and her retinue take their seats. Nervously, the world leaders follow after her. Resolutely, the heroine and her band take the stage. She takes a breath, and signals the concert to begin.

No matter what sequence of events lead up to this one last performance, no matter what series of songs the heroine starts out with, towards the end of the concert, the same songs are played. The heroine and her band covers the album “Resistance“, as released by Muse. It is an album they have covered often, but she always chooses not to play the last three songs. The Exogenesis:Symphony tracks have a certain power to them, that the heroine is reluctant to reveal to the aliens, no matter why the aliens are here.

But tonight, before the alien empress, the heroine will play the last card in her deck. She signals to begin the expressive work. She surrenders herself to the music, pours all of her soul into the emotion released by the swells and chords. The alien empress is also caught up in the performance, held captive to the emotions and thoughtforms emanating from the heroine. The two women make contact, and the alien empress is confronted with a force that could destroy her and all of her kind. The force of the heroine’s humanity is just too much. The empress understands the rebellious nature of humans, the potential godhood that rests uneasily in flesh and blood. The carefully constructed society and culture of the aliens was already beginning to come undone by the influence of this one empowered human woman. If there were other humans like her, the alien race was done for.

But at the peak of the music. In the great cries of the album’s last track, the heroine does not choose to destroy the aliens. She chooses to share herself with the empress. She exposes every facet of her humanity, pours herself out as a libation on the ground. The empress is forced to make a choice. Accept the sharing of humanity with the heroine, changing her nature and by extension the nature of her race. Or reject the sharing, locking the empress and her race into an emotionally dead existence, forever.

As observer, I have watched the empress take both choices. Some nights, she accepts and is enriched. Some nights she rejects, and her race slowly dies. Some nights, humanity thrives. Some night, humanity is enslaved and destroyed.

I did not understand why the dreams kept repeating. I watched every possible scenario play out. I even watched attempted assassinations on the heroine. I studied the heroine, wondering where I was supposed to fit in to the scenario. What was it I was supposed to learn? Surely I was the human, right? Right?

Last night, I focused my attention on the aliens. And when the alien empress made her entrance, I watched her reactions. And I realized, this is where I fit into the story. I was the alien empress. I had built up a series of intellectual barriers between me and the world. I was going to break through my issues by dividing and conquering them. What use was the “normal” world to me, anyway. I have a hard time comprehending my fellow man. And sometimes, when I label myself as misanthropic, I’m not kidding as much as my targets think I am.

And by doing so, I’m walling off a vital part of myself, that I need to survive.

I don’t understand this soft part of me. I don’t see the usefulness of it. I’ve viewed it as a weakness to be chained and then purged if I was going to survive a world that seemed to jackboot me at every chance. But my “weaker” self will not be subdued. I am at a point where I can start allowing that deep hurt to start healing. But to do so, means embracing the very thing I tried to exile.

Once I made that realization, the dream repeated one last time. When the alien empress is brought to that Point of No Return, she changes. Her skin takes on distinctive markings that I’ve seen on myself in other dreams. As the empress, I embrace the human, and allow her to change me.

Since then, I have dreamed it no more.

Make of that, what you may.