The dream was weird from the start. Scenes joined together in the way oil and water homogenizes. Abrupt changes and jumps through devouring plot holes confused me and kept me from finding my intellectual footing. At a scene where my father does the impossible and acts in ways he would never do, I give up trying to secure lucidity and just go with the flow.
Aleister Crowley appears then to escort me away from my father, shocking me into full lucidity and prompting me to laugh deep incapacitating peals of laughter at the absurdity of this new scene.
As he escorts me away, crossing the boundary between mere dream and Dream, I see he is wearing a mask bearing the face of the actor portraying his fictionalized character on the television show “Supernatural”. He sees my attention and says, “This is the key to this dream.”.
Crowley, wearing a garishly bright orange silk robe tightly bound at the waist but so loose at the chest that the fabric falls away, easily guides me to a raised thin bed with his finger and bids me to lie down. I comply without retort which surprises me. He rolls me over so I am laying on my right side and stands in front of me.
He takes a short comb and raises the nap of my hair so that the smoothed hair is standing up as well as nappy hair can. Satisfied, he moves to stand behind me and pats my shoulder. I become fully aware but completely immobilized. “You may remember, you may not.” His words are punctuated with the sound of scissors snipping at air.
He pinched a lock of hair over my left ear and pulled it straight. He cut the captive lock, very close to the scalp, exposing the skin.
I screamed in sudden pain as something was cut away from my thoughts.
“I’ll keep this, thank you. And any others I may remove.”
He grabbed another pinch of hair, pulled it straight, and cut it quickly. I felt a hole open in my mind and started shuddering from the exposure. I heard him pocket that lock in a silk pocket of his robe. Another lock was removed from the same area. My eyes rolled back in my head as I lost awareness of my sense of self and my identity.
Crowley, still wearing the mask but now it was no longer covering the mouth, leaned over me from behind and blew on the revealed skin. The action felt like he was blowing into the forced emptiness of my mind, filling it with a spirit of his choosing. The possession was instant with not even a token of resistance from me.
Still physically bound, I answered the questions asked by Crowley. Due to the possession, I understood neither questions nor answers. They all sounded like a different language was being spoken, but then again, spirit shenanigans enables just that.
As fast as the interrogation started, it ended. Crowley leaned over me again and blew on the exposed scalp. I dry heaved as whatever was possessing me left violently. He combed my afro back into place as well as he could (the scalped area still plainly visible), and pulled me into a seated position.
“Thank you very much, love. That was just what I wanted from you. Your hair will grow back but I’ll be keeping these locks I’ve snipped as payment for services rendered. Now be a good girl and wake up now.”
He clapped his hands and I woke up in my bed as commanded.
My first thought was to call upon [OG] and demand an explanation. My second thought was that OG doesn’t do subtlety and if he was involved, I’d know it from the start. My third thought is to make coffee, and so coffee was made.