NOW

A Dream

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Last night I dreamed that aliens had arrived. i was camping with my family at Yosemite, or what was supposed to be Yosemite, and I was a much younger version of myself, maybe a child, and my mom was definitely there. We looked up and there was an ENORMOUS ship in the sky, gunmetal grey and made of a conglomerate of compartments and chambers, almost like a more geometric submarine. It was so large that it filled the sky—I remember the trees overlapping it, as it definitely stretched below the horizon and far above us. It was absolutely terrifying. No one knew what to do, so we ran into some kind of mess hall or building of some sort that felt camping-appropriate, like the dining hall at a summer camp or something. It was like we all just knew we were about to die, that there was no questioning what this ship in the sky meant. Before I woke up, the ship became surrounded with other ships, more earth-scale ones, like fighter jets, and someone assured us that this wasn’t aliens, but merely Russia playing a trick on us. It still felt like we were bracing ourselves for some kind of natural disaster, and I remember the sky getting dark before I woke up.

The overwhelming feeling in this dream was an acceptance of my own powerlessness; it was sublime, completely overwhelming and soul-crushing. I felt so small, like my survival depended merely on the mood of whoever was driving that ship in the air, that they could decide to vaporize my entire planet or they could move on and not be bothered. I felt like I was an ant instead of a human, staring up at the bottom of some alien’s shoe, poised to wipe me out or not.

Amy LangeComment