I'm in a building with others. It's a hospital of sorts, one with some pandemic restrictions in place. But it's elsewhere. I am seeing bodies everywhere, dead bodies. But they resemble the condition of smoked meat than anything else. I suspect that all I am seeing are the dead and the parts of their bodies harvested for various post-life duties in others, on displays, and in research. There's an ectopic pregnancy, but the body is dismembered and just the torso with fetus bulge partially exposed through a dried ribcage. Here's a leg, carefully dried, and tied in a mesh bag like those tiny smoked cheeses that you can buy.
Then the dream gets stranger. A trial of sorts is being carried out by Asians with various deformities like the survivors of a nuclear blast. We're in a room, to the left is a high bench, like that of a judge. I don't recall what is there. In front of me is a man standing on a grandstand next to a display. It looks like the thin, dried skin of a snake. The men in the room call out names and each of us performs a small ceremony. The Asian man on the grandstand next to the snake skin tells me to pick up what looks like a small, dried human jaw with teeth, hair, and skin still on it. I use it to 'hit' the person for whom this trial is being carried out. Second in line, I swing the jaw at this snakeskin like strip and along the wall horizontally is the illustration of an axon. And simply, the disfigured Japanese are indicating how striking the person leads to a nerve impulse that is carried to the brain. This is a teaching moment, and the person who went before me is arguing about what occurs after the nerve impulse of striking someone enters the brain of that person. I walk around the room and there are others behind high counters covered in small items, like you'd see at a head shop--little tinctures, shot glasses and such. A disfigured Asian man asks me if I want cannabis. It's a liquid concoction in a small plastic shot glass. He indicates 'for personal use only.' I drink the shot and take a place at the far side of the room from the judge's bench. The room resembles my grandparents' washroom in their basement.
I awake. It is just after 1 a.m. I am done sleeping for the night. I am writing this just before 4 a.m. the same morning. I have to work. It is cold. The world is quiet. Here, in the midst of a pandemic a holiday stands mutely in garish lightshows and dissonant messages of cheer and togetherness. But not this time. Too many have died. The formerly well-to-do hemorrhage wealth. Others remain unaffected. God takes some only to pass over others. It is just as the Bible has declared, but the logic of faith does not apply.
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