A Report From the Overworld


I am receiving a massage by a woman who is my mother. I don’t perceive her as my biological mother with her unique personality but of a larger, more impersonal force, a very powerful being. She has powerful energy and is able to heal with her touch. I am sick and weak and embarrassed by my vulnerability. My body is naked, hairless and pre-adolescent. I don’t like that I’m being touched this way but I am too weak to resist.

Then I realize that I am no longer in the body but above it and am free of the illness. I see that the male body below me is covered by sores and scars and she is able to draw out the toxins and poisons in the body.

From the freedom of the above I ask the Mother, " Are you sure that you aren’t moving too fast?" It is clear to me that the process though risky is necessary. As I am apart of and apart from her and the boy-man I am open to a depth that I am only beginning to fathom.

The Return of Gaia? Co-ro-na?! A Necessary Evil? Is God queering humanity?

Oh build your Ship of Death. The Body is our Ship of Death. And the Bottom of the Sea is cruel. Or is it?

Floating above in the Hybrid Body I have a different feeling. I am from this zone of close proximity quite potent.


Where am I perceiving all of this from? I am not sure.

Is Death the Mother of Beauty? Michelangelo, it is said, was a bastard. A love child who never really knew his mother. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. Don’t we all? But the young David knows different.He is my daemon, my divine double, my future.

One thing I do know. Michelangelo created out of a strong desired outcome, he desired Beauty. He was not trying to solve a problem at the level of the problem! He knew how to “go meta”.


I like the title switch.


Thanks for noticing that. I realized that the dream report is mixed with different shades of meaning, that come from snatches of autobiography, history, movies. Our minds are not singular but are a consortium of multiple intelligences, often at odds, with negotiable boundaries, moving through heaven and back to hell . David is a composite of the eternal youth, that haunted Plato and the Neo-Platonists and Shakespeare of the sonnets.

Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers, come to dust-